False Dawn
by AdmiralCats
Summary: (Bad Company: Book 18) A real storm and an emotional storm start pressuring Drake into a take-charge position, despite not feeling remotely ready to do so.
1. Chapter 1

For his twenty-sixth birthday, Hudson wanted to take me and Wierzbowski, and our girlfriends, to Miranda's for a "small party among friends." You'd think that with such a small group, especially where everyone really knows each other, it would be difficult for Hudson to make a fool of himself.

Listen. It's not that hard for him to make a fool of himself. He could be alone in an empty room and he'll still do something stupid.

Of course, Vasquez fought me about going to Miranda's, but she did let up a little when I said it's for Hudson's birthday. That didn't stop her from telling me that we wouldn't be sleeping together for a week.

"It wasn't my idea, honey," I said.

She didn't care, of course.

It was a pleasantly warm May evening when we got on the Metro to Miranda's neighborhood. The destruction from an attack on the university she goes to (and will be graduating from next month) was still visible. The silver flower gas has dissipated, for the most part. Hazmat workers are still finding pockets of it in poorly ventilated areas. It may be awhile before specific buildings in the complex are open again.

We got off the train and spotted Eliza McAllister walking toward the steps leading aboveground. She turned to give Wierzbowski a hug, and then gave Hudson a hug, saying, "How's the birthday boy?"

"I'm doing great, man," Hudson replied.

So we continued walking until we arrived at Miranda's apartment building, where Hudson guided us up to the apartment. He knocked on the door, and Miranda greeted him with a hug and a kiss.

"So good to see all of you! Come on in!" Miranda ushered us inside, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief at the lack of stupid decorations. There were scented candles lit, and the coffee table and kitchen counters were covered in plates and bowls loaded with food. I was also glad that there was plenty of alcohol.

Aside from the couch and the small table in the kitchen, there weren't a lot of places to sit. Everyone else went to the couch, and Vasquez went to the table, making it pretty obvious that the only person allowed to bother her was me.

While I cracked open a beer can, Hudson, Miranda, and Eliza were talking. Wierzbowski was sitting next to Eliza, but seemed really shy about being too affectionate in front of other people. At the same time, I could tell he wanted her to get closer to him.

"Drake, come sit with us, man," Hudson said. "Oh, bring me a can, too."

I sighed before opening the cooler again. "Who else wants something?"

"Can you open a champagne bottle, Mark?" Miranda asked.

"I don't know how."

Eliza got up. "I'll show you."

"Gee, thanks," I muttered.

Eliza gave me a look. "You, my friend, have no reason to be such a sourpuss."

"He's a natural sourpuss, love," Wierzbowski said.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

The champagne was poured, and Hudson got his beer. He also got up to grab a plate and start piling food on it. As he passed by me in the kitchen, I hissed, "Remember Norway."

"Relax, man. I have everything under control," Hudson replied.

I decided to just stay quiet. He'll figure it out.

There really wasn't anything to do other than eat, drink, and talk. Nothing wrong with that, but in a party where about half the attendees are kinda shy and have a difficult time finding things to talk about, it gets old fast.

I spent most of my time observing everyone before dragging over a chair to sit next to Vasquez and put my arm around her. I put my can down before hugging her and kissing her cheek. "You OK, sweetie?"

"Drake, why do you insist on taking me to things like this when you know I hate it?" Vasquez whispered.

"I don't. Miranda invited us, and she did specifically say that she wanted you here."

"Next time, tell her 'no.'"

"OK." I kissed her again, and I could feel goosebumps on her arm. "You're cold. Want me to go get a blanket?"

"I don't care."

I stood up, and walked over to the living room to grab a blanket from the couch. Miranda was petting Hudson's head while he stuffed pizza in his mouth. Wierzbowski and Eliza were outside on the balcony. Taking a teal blanket, I brought it back into the kitchen, and draped it over Vasquez's shoulders. I sat back down, and hugged her, rubbing her back and arms to warm her. "Better?"

She nodded, and was quiet for a few minutes. "You don't have to do stuff like this, Drake."

"No, but I want to. I love you and I don't want you to be uncomfortable." I pressed her closer to me. "I am sorry about dragging you here. I shoulda spoke up and I didn't."

"Well, I should get better at going out in public and not . . . looking like I hate everyone. Sooner or later, somebody I don't know, or somebody I don't like is going to tell me-"

"'You need to be more expressive.'"

"Yeah. Exactly. You get it."

"Hey, you can be a little more expressive without looking like you hate everyone or you're a happy rainbow unicorn. I speak from experience."

"I know you do."

"I still have a ways to go, though, before I feel like I can control everything and feel like I can have a normal conversation with a stranger." I smiled a little. "We're on this journey together, OK?"

Vasquez nodded, and I gently nuzzled her face. "You know what? I changed my mind. We'll stay in your room tonight."

"You're not just saying that, are you?"

"No."

"Alright."

A few long minutes later, Miranda walked into the kitchen. "I'm cutting the cake if anyone wants some," she said. "Is . . . everything OK?"

"Yeah. We're just having a moment," I replied. "What kind of cake is it?"

"Vanilla ice cream with chocolate frosting."

"Sounds good. I'll have a slice."

Miranda set the cake on the counter, and took out a large knife with some paper plates. "We haven't talked since you were in the hospital for your surgery, Mark. How have you been?"

"Kinda restless," I said. "I can't wait to get the bandage off and start doing things again."

"Only, what, four days, and you come by to get looked at?" Miranda placed a slice of cake on a plate. "I'll be sure to be in my office that day."

"Frankly, I don't care who looks at me, as long as they say I can go back to being normal."

"You're still gonna have to be careful for a few days after."

"And then I'll have to be careful a few days after that. I'm really not putting up with this anymore."

Vasquez looked at Miranda. "You might have to restrain him. Just saying."

"Don't say that."

* * *

When Miranda served the cake, I noticed Wierzbowski had disappeared. Eliza said he was in the bathroom, but when more than five minutes had passed, I had a feeling he wasn't in there for a simple reason. Getting up, I walked into the hallway, and knocked on the door.

"Occupied. Don't come in," Wierzbowski replied.

"It's Drake. Are you OK?"

I heard a click, and the door opened. "Alright, come in."

Closing the door behind me, I saw Wierzbowski sitting with his back to the sink, eyes red from crying. "What happened?"

"I needed to be alone." Wierzbowski drew his knees up.

"Something bugging you?"

He nodded. "I didn't tell Eliza that's why I went in here, and I should have."

"Well, you just need to breathe. You're not mad at her, right?"

"No, not at all. I just wish I knew how to explain that . . . I need a few minutes to be alone in situations like this. You know, I . . . I don't think that you and Hudson and everyone else shouldn't be able to drink at a party, but . . . I'm still trying to not get back into any bad habits. I don't feel ready to have one drink."

I nodded. "I get it. You're feeling a little tempted."

"I can't do it in front of Eliza. You, yes, but . . . not her." Wierzbowski glanced at me. "Mostly I feel bad that I didn't tell her that's why I'm in here. I mean, I was afraid of someone overhearing."

"That's OK. Do you want me to go get her?"

"I don't know yet."

I crossed my legs, trying to get comfortable. "Fine. I'll stay here with you, if you want."

"Thanks, Drake." Wierzbowski folded his hands in his lap. "How's Hudson been doing with trying to fix his bond with Spunkmeyer?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Spunkmeyer kinda shut down when I brought it up."

"I guess I should've warned you ahead of time to go in cautiously."

"How come?"

"Well, I think it's become apparent that each one of us has something in our pasts that we're ashamed of, or we just don't like talking about. With Spunkmeyer . . . it's that he's adopted."

"I certainly didn't know that."

"I don't know every detail, but I know his mother didn't want him, but his father did. His mother ended up murdering his father to keep it quiet, and the nurse who adopted him didn't care for him, emotionally. He was pretty alone for most of his life, and decided to enlist to get away. Even so, not having a strong support system made it difficult for him to be around people. He's got no idea how to act or feel, and Hudson took him under his wing. They were close, but I do remember the day in which Hudson had a bit of a meltdown. The day Doctor Ranelli left-because he felt Hicks could function-Hudson sorta had this . . . realization that he was the only one who didn't haul his weight around when it came to helping out Hicks. He was telling me about this in the gym, and said something along the lines of, 'Why did it take me so long to see I suck as a human being?' I tried telling him that's not true, but he . . . he broke."

"He realized life isn't fun most of the time."

"Yeah. I certainly didn't know what to do. I figured he felt like he showed that he doesn't care about his corporal."

"And that fucked up his relationship with Spunkmeyer, who . . . from what you're saying, doesn't feel like he can afford to lose a relationship with _anybody_, so this hurt a lot more than it would the average person."

Wierzbowski nodded.

"So, this is gonna be a fucking picnic," I muttered sarcastically. "I'm starting to wonder why I'm bothering."

"Drake! It's because you love your friends and you don't want to see them suffer like this."

"While that's true, I have no idea how to get them in a room together without one or both of them exploding."

"Actually, that's a good point," Wierzbowski replied. "We'll have to put our heads together on this."

"Yeah. Do me a favor, and . . . don't say anything to Hudson. At least not now, because it's his birthday and we don't want to make him upset on his birthday."

"Agreed."

Someone knocked on the door. "Hey, man, I really hate to interrupt anything, but I got a special delivery for the toilet, man," Hudson moaned.

I gave Wierzbowski a look. "We better leave before he throws up all over the carpet."

Nodding, Wierzbowski got up to follow me out of the bathroom. Hudson stumbled in, not bothering to close the door as he fell down and vomited in the toilet.

We returned to the living room, and the first thing I had to ask was, "Hudson didn't get naked in front of you ladies, did he?"

"No," Miranda replied. "He did hug my bamboo plant next to the couch, though."

"He didn't damage it, did he?"

"It's fine. Don't worry too much about it. Is Will OK in there?"

"He's puking. He should be fine, soon. Won't feel good in the morning, but he should be fine."

"Maybe he should stay here tonight. I'll bring him back, I promise."

I smirked. "Nah, you can keep him."

* * *

So we left Hudson with Miranda, and the rest of us got on the Metro to take Eliza home. When we got on the platform, Wierzbowski picked her up, and she kissed his cheek. "I had fun tonight. Do you . . . have any plans for Wednesday? I've got the day off and I thought we'd go miniature golfing."

"I'll call and let you know," Wierzbowski replied. "Look . . . I . . . when I went in Miranda's bathroom earlier, I . . . I just . . ."

"You wanted to be alone. That's OK."

Wierzbowski's face flushed red. "Y-You're not mad?"

"No. Why should I be?"

"Well, I didn't tell you-"

"You don't have to tell me, sweetie. I'm not your boss."

"Oh." The redness deepened. "I'm . . . I'm sorry, then."

Eliza smirked before taking off Wierzbowski's cap to kiss him on the forehead. "Good night, 'Ski. Sweet dreams."

I looked at Vasquez. "Are we still the superior couple?"

She nodded. "Don't say that to anyone, though."

We returned to base, met with silence. Hicks glanced at us, saying, "Where's Hudson?"

"He's . . ." I looked at Vasquez and Wierzbowski, "at Miranda's. He got . . . sick. Really sick. You know, he's throwing up, he's-"

"He's drunk, isn't he? Drake, don't play cute with me. It doesn't work." Hicks sighed. "No one got hurt?"

"No."

"Fine. As long as everyone's OK and Miranda has a good handle on him."

"She's got a good handle on him, for sure." I tried to hide a grin.

"Alright, go to bed. You sound buzzed too."

We had to wait until Hicks left the hallway before Vasquez joined me in my bedroom. I grabbed a T-shirt from my drawer, and threw it over her. "Here. I'll keep you warm all night."

"I took a hot shower. I feel better," Vasquez replied.

"Nope, I still have a job to do." I got in bed, and opened my arms. "Come 'ere." She lay down with me, and I squeezed her, tightening the blanket around us and rubbing her arms. "This is better, right?"

"You're being a little too fussy, Drake."

"Sometimes, I wish you'd fuss over me. Come on, woman, I can't be the only one putting my back into this relationship."

"Did I not go with you to Hudson's fucking birthday at his stupid girlfriend's?"

"You did."

"That's enough for me."

"Fine." I kissed her. "You still love me?"

"More than anything else in the world."

"You say that like it's a chore."

"Sometimes, it is a chore."

I grinned. "Well, I love you more than anything else in the world, too."

I felt Vasquez hug my arm. She doesn't like to admit it, but I think she needs to hear somebody tell her they love her from time to time. Everyone needs to hear it, and it made me think about what Wierzbowski revealed to me about Spunkmeyer. He's never heard somebody tell him they love him. That's awful.

* * *

Frost wasted no time in guessing what happened to Hudson last night when we all sat down for breakfast this morning. "Is he passed out at his girlfriend's?"

"When we left, he was throwing up in her bathroom," I said.

"Probably passed out later, then."

I heard Apone sigh. "That's our Hudson."

"We love him anyway, sir," Hicks replied. He put a spoonful of watery instant grits in his mouth before turning to face us. "Hey, listen up, everyone. We're gonna be doing a little extra weight training in the gym today. There's a hurricane about to blow through parts of Florida and Georgia and we might be called down afterwards to help with rescues and such, so I want you all ready to lift debris and shit like that. Oh-nine-hundred, I want everyone except Dietrich in the gym, got it?"

Everyone mumbled a "Yes, Corporal," and then went back to their breakfasts. At nine, we were, of course, all in the gym, lifting weights and all that fun jazz. Not long after, we went outside to do some rescue drills.

If we go in after a natural disaster, there really is no need for smartgunners to go in with our big guns, but that doesn't mean we sit out. Our strength is needed to lift heavy objects and carry the wounded. Bad weather, earthquakes, tsunamis, and the like are just as scary as any warzone. To tell you the truth, this would be my first natural disaster zone, and I was praying that we didn't get called if the bitch hits the coast.

That night, I found Hicks in the lounge, watching the weather. After getting a chocolate drink out of the vending machine, I paused by the pool table, occasionally glancing over at Hicks. He sighed, picked up the remote, and changed the channel to a basketball game before getting up and going over to me.

"You doing OK?" Hicks asked, taking a cue stick from a rack next to the table.

"Yeah, why?" I bent over, focusing hard before taking a stab at the balls.

"Just asking. You and Wierzbowski worked pretty good together today."

"We're friends. I wouldn't expect us not to work pretty good together."

Hicks shrugged. "I wouldn't expect you to work well with anyone just a few months ago. Seeing you improve makes me feel good."

I was silent for a minute. "Hicks, can I tell you something, and can you keep it between us?"

"Sure."

"Hudson and Spunkmeyer were close when you first arrived here, right?"

Something flashed in Hicks's eyes. He stared into space-well, he was staring into the back of his brain, into something he likely didn't want to be thinking about. He looked down, and breathed a quiet sigh. "They were. When I . . . first came here, my . . . my problem was a lot worse than it is now. My mood swung a lot more easily. That first night, I was walking around the loading bay, looking at stuff. I noticed there were a couple things out of place, and of course the maniacal part of my mind was saying, 'This is wrong. This is wrong, it's a sign that this unit has no discipline and no fear of consequences,' so I marched down to Spunkmeyer's room because he operates the powerloader. The rest is . . . a little fuzzy, but I know I got violent with him and he was crying and Hudson flew in like a wild animal and there was . . . there was a fight, and . . . yeah, they were close. Hudson risked getting in a lot of trouble for Spunkmeyer."

"Do you remember when they kinda . . . fell out?"

"A little. Not sure why, though. Just one day they weren't talking to each other during meals."

A pang of guilt twisted around my stomach. "Hudson felt bad he didn't help you when your illness was still bad. He cared about you, but he didn't know what to do to help you, even a little. So, he assumed he was . . . emotionally stupid, and that had an effect on his relationship with Spunkmeyer. I'm saying this because I wasn't understanding why I was seeing certain things in my dreams. Apparently . . . those things meant that Hudson wasn't happy. I want to help them reconnect to what they had before." I glanced at Hicks before taking another sip of my drink. "You get what I'm saying?"

Hicks nodded.

"I thought maybe you'd know a thing or two about getting them to talk without one of them blowing up or crying."

"I'll have to think about it, Drake, but I will get back to you as soon as I can, OK?" Hicks offered a smile as he leaned over to take a carefully calculated shot at the balls.

* * *

_Question: Is Drake really a good choice for helping Hudson and Spunkmeyer with their past difficulties?_


	2. Chapter 2

I awoke the next morning to hear Hicks banging on my door. "I let you all sleep in long enough! Time to get up, get dressed, let's go!"

I looked at the clock. It was only seven-thirty. That's not sleeping in. Eight would be sleeping in. Grunting, I pulled myself out of bed, and began searching around for something to wear that wasn't dirty. Like Hudson, I tend to leave my dirty laundry on the floor. Unlike Hudson, I don't leave it until it starts to smell.

I gave myself a quick shave before getting dressed and leaving the room to join everyone in the mess hall. Something actually smelled good, and I spotted a dish stacked high with what looked like real muffins and not bran muffins.

To be honest, I have nothing against bran muffins. One a week is good to keep your system moving. One every single day will constipate you. Feeling backed up and weighed down isn't pleasant, and it really hurts your performance during daily exercises.

"This is a treat, you guys, so don't expect this every day," Hicks said. "Take _one_, Hudson, put those back."

"Tomorrow, we should get some real biscuits, man," Hudson chirped with his mouth full. "Real biscuits, real gravy. Let's get some fucking chicken tenders and real waffles, too, man."

"How about you behave for the next week, and maybe I'll consider it."

"Deal, man!" Hudson practically showered Hicks with spit-soaked crumbs.

Sighing, Hicks looked at the rest of us, brushing the crumbs from his hair. He waited, and then said, "You're welcome, everyone."

"We were gonna say 'thank you' when we're done," I replied. "Keep your shirt on."

"You don't have any manners, Drake, so I wasn't expecting a 'thanks' from you."

People snickered a little.

"Well, fuck you guys," I muttered.

Things got quiet after breakfast. I joined Hudson and Wierzbowski in the exercise yard to take a walk. It was getting warmer and warmer as summer got closer, so we all felt more inclined to go outside more often.

"Have either of you been in a natural disaster zone?" I asked, just for shits and giggles.

"I was. Right out of training, too," Wierzbowski replied. "Earthquake in Peru."

"How . . . nerve-wracking was it?"

"Well, we all had to run when the sirens sounded that a tsunami was coming in. Now, we anticipated it for sure, but we were trying to get people out of there before it hit."

"It was a fucking mess, man," Hudson added. "I watched a whole shack get dragged out into the ocean. Watched some people drown, too." Hudson was quiet for a moment. "Yeah, the first time I watched someone die as a Marine wasn't from combat. It was that earthquake. There had to be, what, seven-eight people that got caught in the water. Others were yelling, and then we had to push them inland. I turned around, and . . . boom, there're dead bodies floating up and washing up in the sand. Honestly, I didn't . . . I didn't kinda think about it till later, man. I didn't know 'em. It was still an odd . . . sensation, watching people die. It's different when you're out there protecting yourself, but something like the drownings is just . . . a lot more gut-wrenching. It's something you can't do anything about."

Wierzbowski nodded. "That's why you need to be good at detaching yourself from your emotions. At the time, I was still trying to keep myself from wanting to drink. I didn't really care about anything else. It's awful in hindsight, but . . . the past is the past, whether we're ashamed of it or not."

I didn't respond right away. A few minutes passed, and I said, "I'm just asking in case we get called to where that hurricane's gonna hit. I've never done this before."

"A few words of advice; be careful. Some people can get hysterical. Some may demand things from you. If they get violent with you, don't be afraid to defend yourself. Don't go off alone. Always have a buddy with you. Consider every structure unstable until you thoroughly check it." Wierzbowski glanced ahead before returning his gaze to me. "I hope we don't get called down there, but if we do, we do."

* * *

That night, I was dreaming about a place being battered with wind and heavy rain. I could see one traffic light swaying erratically, the red light blinking steadily. I could hear someone screaming for help.

When I shot upright, I dismissed it as my PTSD-infested brain latching onto the idea that we might be doing cleanup after the hurricane.

Early in the morning, I couldn't sleep anymore. I put my boots on, and grabbed my robe before leaving the room. When I stepped out into the hallway, I saw light under the door to the lounge. Wondering who could be in there at this hour, I peered through the glass to see Hicks sitting on the couch, watching the weather. He must've seen me through the corner of his eye, because he gestured that I could come in.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked.

"It hit. Look." Hicks gestured to the map on-screen. Sure enough, the hurricane had begun smashing into the coasts of Florida and Georgia. "Every USCM base in that area was evacuated. Every base on the east coast is on standby, and that includes us."

"How do they pick us for this shit?"

"I dunno. I'm not involved with that process. That's an officer's job." Hicks grinned a little. "You can sit down, if you want."

"I couldn't sleep and I saw the light was on. Didn't plan on staying."

"No big deal. Tell you what, get dressed, and I'll take you down to the shops for some real coffee when they open in-" Hicks looked at his watch, "fifteen minutes."

After getting dressed and going back, I ended up playing a few pool rounds with Hicks before we headed down to the area of the base that privates can't go unless we have a corporal with us. "You're pretty good at pool, Drake," Hicks said while punching his information into a keypad by a door. "Very steady hand, I noticed. Hell, I've been working with you for two years, and this is the first time I noticed you're a southpaw."

I snorted. "I fucking eat with my left hand, but you notice it when we're playing pool. You sit across from me, for crying out loud."

"I'm usually trying to keep Hudson from dumping the whole yogurt bowl in his mouth."

"Point taken. Still, what's your point in noting that I'm left-handed?"

"Lefties tend to be seen as more creative and intelligent."

"And I'm neither. I'm really defective somewhere."

Hicks smirked. "No, I think you're a lot more intelligent than you give yourself credit for. You got a 'B' on your GED, after all. I wouldn't expect someone who didn't finish high school to score that high. Plus, there's lots of different types of intelligence, Drake. You have exceptionally high emotional intelligence. You've really taken what Ranelli says to you, and applied it. Heck, you've been taking the initiative when it comes to helping the rest of us with our emotional problems-"

"That's because I feel guilty, or because you approach me." I shrugged. "I don't know why you approach me. I haven't even fixed myself yet."

Hicks looked down at his boots, sighing. "People trust you, Drake. That's why. They see how much you've changed, how much you've really grown as a person. They see who you really are, and they genuinely like you. Wierzbowski and Hudson have gotten really close to you over the last couple months. That means something, right? You didn't have friends in your civilian life, and you have a lot more friends now. What . . . What's running through your head when you tell yourself 'I'm not good for anything?'"

"That's just it. I'm not good for anything. I-I don't understand why I know I've got people who care about me, but . . . at the same time, I'm . . . I'm so unhappy. You know, I've got moments where I feel loved, but then I have moments where I just feel alone and angry."

Hicks nodded. "I get it. It happens. The important thing is to not let that control you."

When we sat down with our coffee, I was tempted to ask Hicks how his relationship with Carlisle was going. It's been about a month since they started trying to make things better between them, and Hicks hasn't said much about what's going on. Once I managed to ask, Hicks set down his cup, and took a moment to think.

"So far, so good," he replied.

I frowned. "Are you sure? I expect an answer like that out of Wierzbowski, but . . . not you."

"Well, I wish I could put it into better words for you. I'm sorry. I mean, we're not fighting, we're not talking about the past very often. Things are calm. That's all. You get that?"

I nodded. "I was just asking. After all, you did want me with you when you talked to Carlisle about how your problem flared up again."

"You're right. I do trust you with stuff like this." Hicks took a sip of his coffee, glancing out the window with a blank gaze. "How come you haven't found yourself a romantic relationship?"

I looked down, hoping Hicks didn't see me flushing red with nerves. I'm really not ready to tell him about Vasquez yet. "I thought it was obvious I'm not interested in searching yet."

"Hanging out with Wierzbowski and Hudson while they have girlfriends doesn't make you want to find your own special someone?"

"I'm pretty sure my PTSD is an instant turnoff."

"That's not true. You just need to find the right person to be patient with you."

_And I have that with Vasquez._ "I'm not interested right now. I want to recover, and then I'll look."

"Alright, makes sense."

I sighed and rubbed my face. "I'm not emotionally ready, that's all."

"Fair enough. We'll drop the subject now."

* * *

I shouldn't even bother mentioning how much the day dragged. The only difference to yesterday was that it felt like we were waiting for something to happen.

A good number of us were anticipating being sent to the areas being wrecked by the hurricane. Dietrich was already stocking kits and checking her equipment. Honestly, it got tiring to hear about, so I decided to hide out in the armory.

Well, I wasn't alone. As I rounded a corner to the benches in front of a rifle rack, I saw Spunkmeyer sitting on the floor, hugging his knees. His face was red and wet from crying.

"What happened to you?" I asked, sitting on the bench.

"Nothing," Spunkmeyer muttered. "I don't feel like talking to anyone."

"OK." I stared ahead at the racks, gazing blankly at the individual rifles resting on them.

Spunkmeyer glanced up at me, then put his head on his knees again. "I know I told you I try not to hold grudges, but I've been holding one against Hudson for two years. I kinda just realized that a little while ago."

"And that upset you?"

"Yeah. That and just . . . the whole thing being brought up again."

"I can understand why you don't want it being brought up again, but you guys have been living together in the same confined spaces for the last two-three years, so it's gotta be killing the both of you."

"It's been killing me, that's for sure. I doubt it's been killing Hudson."

"You'd be surprised. He wants to make up to you. He's not that big of an idiot, dude, he really does care about everyone in this squad. You haven't noticed that he's been trying to be more in tune with what he's feeling and how others feel?"

"It doesn't explain why he didn't try to make things up a long time ago. Yes, I noticed, but I've been waiting for someone to just say something about this. When you brought it up a couple weeks ago, I had lost all expectations, so that's why I wasn't sure what to do." Spunkmeyer sighed. "This whole thing is stupid. Only a Goddamn kid would be moping around with something like this. I really don't care if I'm friends with somebody or not."

"You have an extreme fear of abandonment. Deep down, this fucking bothers you to no end."

"How would you know? You weren't adopted by the most . . ." Spunkmeyer took a breath, "heartless bitch that walked the planet."

"No, but I know what it's like when something that seems silly to others just keeps tormenting you. You can't cover this up. You can't tell yourself it doesn't bother you. _It does_, and it always will until you confront it. Trust me."

Spunkmeyer sighed. "I don't know what to do."

"At this point, you're just gonna have to be brutally honest with Hudson. You both need to sit down together, and talk. You might yell at each other, you might become really angry with each other, but you have to let it happen. You've let this go on for too long, so the only way you're gonna feel better is to just let it all out. Go ahead, scream at Hudson for abandoning you. Let him scream at you for not listening to him. Do it. I can talk to Ranelli about setting aside a room or something so you guys can do this without anybody else listening."

Getting up to sit next to me, Spunkmeyer said, "All my life, I've heard stuff like that just makes things worse."

"Well, whoever told you that is wrong. Whoever told you that has never dealt with real people before."

A very weak smile was tugging at the edges of Spunkmeyer's mouth. "Hey, I trust you, Drake."

I gave him a wide smirk, and patted his shoulder. "Thanks."

"Can I talk to you 'bout one more thing?"

"Absolutely."

Spunkmeyer's Adam's apple bobbed a little as he swallowed nervously. "Ferro told me about you and Vasquez, and she told me that . . . she's open to the idea of . . . her and I having a relationship. I mean, years and years ago we kinda had feelings for each other, but we didn't think it was possible to ever pull something like that off. Now, we're . . . w-we're looking at you, and . . . everything kinda came back."

"Just because Vasquez and I can work in this environment and still have a fully functional relationship doesn't mean another couple can. You and Ferro have different personalities compared to me and Vasquez. But, if you really think you have genuine feelings for each other . . . I say go for it."

"Where do I start? What do I do?"

"Take her out to dinner and talk. You guys have been working together for a few years, so, you should be way past fucking small talk. You should be able to go right into those deeper conversations. Hell, if you're nervous, maybe Vasquez and I can come with you and sorta . . . demonstrate how to do that." I realized I probably shouldn't have said that right after I said it, because Vasquez doesn't enjoy going out. Maybe she'd change her mind if I said Hudson and Miranda weren't going to be there.

"If you're really willing to do that, then . . . by all means, do it. I would appreciate all the help I can get, and I probably should repay you."

"Don't worry about that, OK?" I roughly grabbed Spunkmeyer's hand and shook it. "You're handling this well. I'm proud of you."

A more genuine smile blossomed on Spunkmeyer's face. I had a feeling that not many people have said "I'm proud of you" to him, so he needs to hear it. Frankly, I've never taken on the big brother role, not like Hudson has. Maybe Spunkmeyer will feel a lot better with two older brothers (hey, at least we don't get together to dunk his head in the toilet).

* * *

Sometime after dinner, Hicks came running around to tell us we were indeed going to where the hurricane just hit. Spunkmeyer was ordered down to the hangar to load supplies onto a plane, while Dietrich and Bishop pushed carts of medical equipment out into the hangar. The rest of us just had to be ready to get dressed as quickly as possible at some ungodly hour tomorrow morning.

Vasquez and I were given heavy overcoats and sidearm holsters because we were not carrying our smartguns. Everyone else was wearing their standard armor, and only a couple guys were carrying pulse rifles.

The noise didn't die down till ten-thirty at night. I lay awake long after things got quiet, unable to get my mind to settle. I could still hear banging and echoing and yelling. As I tossed and turned, it wasn't going away. It continued to drone, and it was starting to merge with some of my other thoughts and memories.

I glanced at the clock. Only thirty minutes had passed. _Oh my God, I just want to sleep. _I stared at the clock, but that seemed to make it go slower. My heart was pounding, and suddenly I wanted to cry.

Not feeling like I had a choice anymore, I got up. I went next door to Wierzbowski's room. He twitched when he got the sense that someone else was in his room, and he slowly lifted his head. "What is it, Drake?" he muttered.

"I can't sleep."

"Nightmares?"

"No. I can't get to sleep at all. It's like my mind won't stop . . . moving, I guess."

"OK. Well, go ahead and sit. I'll do my best to get your head to settle down." Wierzbowski moved onto his back so he could sit up, and turn the light on. "Is it your usual thoughts, or is it something else?"

"Both. All the rushing around and prep you guys were doing earlier . . . I can't stop hearing it. There's just banging and people yelling orders and the echoing of voices and machinery. It's mixing with some of my other memories and I don't like it."

Wierzbowski nodded. "I take it you're a little nervous about tomorrow?"

"Yeah. I shouldn't be-"

"No, you'd be insane if you weren't a little nervous at all. You think the rest of us aren't nervous?"

I was quiet for a moment. "Last night, I had a dream that I was standing in a flooded road. The wind was bad, the rain was bad, and there was a traffic light blowing all over, with just the red light flickering steadily. Someone was screaming for help."

"I take it that's been bothering you all day."

"Somewhat. I just don't know what it means or whether I should even care."

"The good thing is that you won't be alone when we go down there. Hudson and I will probably stick by you the whole time. I wouldn't worry too much, alright?"

* * *

_Question: What do you think Spunkmeyer dreamt about after being poisoned?_


	3. Chapter 3

When I did manage to get some sleep, it was dreamless. A small part of me is grateful for that.

Wierzbowski had noted I was starting to nod off while we talked. It took nearly an hour and a long conversation about the things we wanted to do when we got our discharges for my mind to finally quiet down. It's amazing what more pleasant thoughts can do when you let them in, when your traumas aren't putting up so much of a fight.

The banging and echoing had stopped, replaced by the imagining of a quiet morning. I've seen this house once that Doctor Hornby left me in his will, but that was enough. It was enough for me to start daydreaming about the life Vasquez and I will have there. I thought about us fighting over the blankets in the wintertime, then waking up in the morning snuggled in each other's arms. I thought about slow summer mornings, gazing at each other because neither of us want to leave the bed. I thought about getting to have all the time in the world to just be in love and not have to hide it.

I wish I got to dream about that.

Apone and Hicks woke us all up at five sharp. I tried to move as quick as I could to put on my boots and trousers and vest. After putting my gun and holster around my waist, I threw on the gray overcoat, and joined everyone else in the mess hall for breakfast.

There were no real muffins today. Just potatoes and toast and some fruit and oatmeal and stuff like that. We would be working all day, so we needed our strength. No one spoke. Even Hudson was quiet.

As soon as Spunkmeyer and Ferro were done, they left to starting getting the plane ready for takeoff. Apone began ordering us to hurry up, prompting Hudson to pick up his bowl and dump all the oatmeal into his mouth. His cheeks were puffed out like a chipmunk's when he got up with the rest of us to get suited up, and there were flecks of oatmeal dripping from his chin.

Vasquez and I didn't have to do much, so we were ordered to help the others put their armor on. It felt like only two seconds had gone by when Apone yelled for us to get our asses out on the plane. It really felt weird to be running out without my smartgun. I sat next to Wierzbowski, who gave me a wink, trying to subtly tell me that everything would be OK.

I didn't give a response of any kind, but I did trust him.

* * *

The storm wasn't that far off. Ferro and Spunkmeyer were constantly shouting instructions as they maneuvered the plane through the outer parts of the storm walls, trying to avoid getting blown into the sea. I felt kinda sick as we bounced through. Across from me, Hudson was gagging, but his breakfast stayed down (thank God). Wierzbowski was looking a little green as well. Vasquez was staring into space, like she was trying not to think about the movement.

Over an hour later, everyone was jounced in their seats as the plane landed hard on a makeshift runway. Hudson groaned as he stood up, grabbing onto the walls and the ceiling to avoid toppling over from nausea. Frost pushed him along.

Naturally, no one greeted us when we stepped off the plane. As we marched into a hastily set up camp, General Russell approached us, wearing a pair of workpants and a black jacket with his rank and the USCM emblem on his chest. He ordered us to separate into teams of three, and stick close to other teams as we moved into the nearby neighborhoods. It was unknown whether or not everyone had evacuated, so we needed to start sweeping the area for victims.

Hudson had his motion tracker ready, and walked in front of me and Wierzbowski as we walked down a wet, muddy street over a mile inland. I could hear the shouts of Marines and National Guardsmen and first responders on the next block. The sky was an ominous dark-gray, and rain continued to sprinkle down. Nearly every house on the street had been leveled. The roof of one house was resting on top of the neighbors'. Someone's lawnmower had been tossed into the road; the oil was leaking all over the place. A boat from the marina was laying upside-down in someone's front yard.

The three of us headed further into the neighborhood, away from where most of the other workers were. It got quieter, and we came across the same destruction. A cat that had been left behind was sitting on top of a child's playhouse. Its fur was covered in mud and it watched us intently, almost sadly. Wierzbowski called for someone over his radio to bring a carrier, and get that cat to a vet ASAP.

The cat was lucky. We came across pets that weren't. Animals that tried to take shelter in garages had ultimately been killed by falling debris. There were unlucky people as well. We found a drowned woman in a backyard. The corpse was extremely stiff with rigor mortis as we watched workers drag it out.

We had to press on, though.

As we headed down another street, this one closer to the business section of town, Hudson picked something up on his motion tracker. He turned to his left. "In this house, man," he said.

The house was a pile of beams and shutters and roof shingles. Wierzbowski picked up the front door and tossed it aside, trying to see inside the rubble. He then got down on his belly to shine his light under a large piece of roof. "Drake! Hudson! I got someone!"

I lay next to Wierzbowski, and my heart skipped a beat. I recognized the mop of curly blond hair on the boy laying facedown in muddy water and debris. Just a month-and-a-half ago, I was talking to him on a beach in the Bahamas. "Casey . . ." I mouthed.

Without a second thought, I tried to shove myself under the debris to get to him.

"Drake, what are you doing?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Lift up the roof. I'm getting him outta here." I kept crawling in. A space opened up, and I saw that Casey's leg had been trapped by a fallen hutch. Broken glass and dishes littered the room. "Wierzbowski! I need your help!"

"With what?"

"I can't get him out!"

"What the bloody hell makes you think I can fit in there? Drake, I can't hold this roof up forever."

"This kid's still alive! We need to get him out, now!"

"Hudson, radio for some extra hands, will you?" Wierzbowski grunted.

Cursing to myself, I didn't want to wait for help. I started trying to pull the hutch apart, piece by piece. However, I'm not exactly strong enough to pry some of these pieces apart. I couldn't push the hutch up because the top of the space was too low.

There wasn't a lot of air. I became aware of a tightening sensation around my ribcage. My eyes darted back and forth as my heart pounded harder and faster. "_Wierzbowski, help!_"

"Try to stay calm, Drake! Help is coming!" Wierzbowski said. "I'm right here, don't worry. Keep your eyes on me."

I wanted to get out of there now. Frantically, I searched for something that would lift up the hutch a few inches, and grabbed a metal pipe. Jamming it under the hutch, I pressed down on it, and put half a broken chair in to keep the hutch up. With that, I started pulling Casey out. His legs were cut up and bleeding from the glass, and I tucked him under me as I squeezed my way out from under the debris. As soon as we were out, I gasped for breath.

Wierzbowski dropped the roof, and sat back, wincing at the pain in his arms. "You OK, Drake?"

I was holding Casey, and a moment later, I felt him wrap his arms around my neck. Something warm fell down my neck, and I heard him sob. "You're gonna be OK," I gasped. "I gotcha. You're gonna be alright."

Wierzbowski helped us up. I held Casey tightly, and I noticed some ugly bruises covering his right leg.

Hudson jogged over to us. "Dietrich and Crowe are waiting for us, man. There's a station set up in the middle school gym."

* * *

The entire middle school had been turned into a relief operations center. Half the gym was being used for quick treatment before victims were sent to hospitals by chopper. The other half was full of people who were uninjured, waiting to hear from loved ones, or just didn't have anyplace else to go.

Casey was a bit more conscious as we approached Dietrich and two other medtechs. He finally recognized me when I set him down on the exam table. "Drake? It's really you, ain't it?"

"Sure is," I said.

"Reunion later," Dietrich ordered, strapping her gloves on.

I hung back with Hudson and Wierzbowski, but I refused to leave the gym. I couldn't.

"Definite fracture of the right leg," one of the other medics said. "Nothing overly serious."

"If it's not too serious, we can cast it here. He can wait," Dietrich replied. "Other than that, he needs food and water. Where are your parents?"

"They left," Casey replied, tears filling his eyes. "The car was getting fixed when that thing telling us to leave came in. The storm'd come in when we was packed to leave. They refused to stay. I'd run up to get the last of my bags and the roof caved in . . . I think they assumed I was dead."

"Do you know where they are?"

"No, ma'am."

Dietrich gave an irritated sigh. "You're gonna have to go to the other side of the gym, find someone, and talk to them so they can track down your parents. After that, you might be stuck here for a couple of days. I'm sorry."

Once Casey's leg was put in a cast, I decided to carry him to the other side of the massive curtain dividing the gym. There were hundreds of people sitting or lying around. Almost all of them were filthy, and some looked traumatized. I nervously walked around, trying to find someone who might be able to help Casey, but my eyes abruptly settled on a small group of people who didn't exactly give me the warm-fucking-fuzzies.

I have seen some sick bastards when I was in prison. While, yes, it's prison, there were some people in there who were the lowest of the low, that the other inmates hated as much as the outside world did. I vividly remember that if you were in there because you hurt a child, a group of guys would take you to a corner of a storage room and beat the shit out of you. They were labelled the Unforgivables, and they all had a similar look to them, male or female.

I don't want to know what these people are going to do while they're here, but I certainly know I'm not letting Casey be a part of it. "You're not staying here," I said, turning around.

"Why not?" he whispered.

"There are some bad people in here."

"How do you know?"

"Trust me. I know."

"What're we gonna do then? I gotta find Ma!"

"You will, I promise. For now-" I smiled a little, "you get to hang out with me."

Casey didn't give a smile in return.

When I got back to Hudson and Wierzbowski, they were a bit confused, until I explained why I sure-as-fuck wasn't leaving Casey here.

"Honest to God," Wierzbowski muttered. "I hate to say this, Drake, but I guess it's a good thing you-"

"Shush," I hissed.

"Right. Sorry." Wierzbowski gave me a look. He knows, but I'm not letting Casey know the truth about me. Not yet, anyway.

"You think Hicks and Apone will allow this, man?" Hudson asked.

"We don't have a choice. I'm not leaving him here."

"Well, maybe they'll find someplace better for him. You're sure about this, Drake?"

"I'm sure."

* * *

I think on any other day, Casey would've been in awe at being in a real Marine unit. For now, he needed food and rest.

In our tent, I gave him a ration pack, and cleared a cot for him to sleep on. "I'm not sure when we'll be leaving, OK? If we don't get into contact with somebody, you might have to come back to base with us."

There was silence for a minute or two. Casey looked unsure of what he wanted to do. Big tears were rolling down his dirt-covered face. "They left, Drake."

I know people have been saying, "We're gonna find your parents" all day to him. That doesn't bring them back. No calls have been made. Nothing. Until any steps are taken, I have to care for him.

Sitting next to Casey, I put my arms around him. He dropped the ration pack on the cot's pillow in order to hug me tight. "I knew I was gonna see you again, someday."

"Didn't think it'd be this soon, did you?" I said.

"Well, I ran down to the beach when we got off that sailing trip I told you 'bout. Went the exact same spot, and you were gone. I kept going back till the day we came home. You never showed up again."

"I had a job to do," I replied. "I'm sorry."

"Ma said you were probably busy, that the odds of me seeing you again are slimmer than a piece of hay. That's not the half of it, though; the kids at school didn't believe me."

"Then why'd you tell them?"

"I didn't think they weren't gonna believe me."

I sighed. "You said you met a Marine, not a fucking unicorn."

"Hey, that's what I said. Only without the f-word."

"Listen, in this unit, you can cuss as much as you want-" I leaned in to whisper, "and I won't tell your mom. But, you gotta promise me you won't use that kind of language when you go home."

"Do they teach you all the bad words in boot camp?"

"Not technically, but at the same time, yes. Drill instructors have the foulest mouths out of any other job you can get in the Marines. If they aren't dropping f-bombs when they speak to you, there's something wrong."

Now Casey was smiling.

"Hudson will probably teach you more swear words than you can think of, and Wierzbowski might teach you a couple of British curses as well."

"They guys you work with?"

"They're my teammates and my best friends." I looked up when I noticed movement in the corner of my eye, and saw Hudson coming into the tent. "Right, buddy?"

"Right what, man?" Hudson asked.

"We're best friends."

Hudson opened a crate and pulled out a ration pack. "I guess, man."

There was a hint of sadness in his voice; he wasn't being funny. "Everything OK?"

"Just tired, man. Been a really long day. Is it still the same day, man?"

"As far as I know, yeah."

Hudson gave a heavy sigh as he sat on the dirt floor, opening his rations. "I'm wiped, man."

"How? You didn't do anything," I snorted. "You're either outta shape or getting old, then."

"I am not getting old, man. Twenty-six is still young." Hudson moved his left arm, and I heard a loud pop from his shoulder.

I smirked. "Then you are out of shape. Wierzbowski's three years older than you and he's not creaking and popping."

"You better not say I'm fat, too-"

"No, you're not fat. Not yet, anyway. Is that what Miranda plans to do with you?"

"Fuck you, Drake." Hudson glanced over at Casey. "Oh, sorry, I forgot we had company."

"I told him he can swear around us."

"We can't be teaching him swear words, man! He's, what, ten?"

"Eleven in August," Casey said. He held out his hand. "What's your name?"

"Hudson."

"Drake said you know all the bad words."

"Well, he knows all the bad words, too, squirt." Hudson tore open a packet of beef jerky. "All of us got pottymouths 'round here. It's how we blow off steam, man, and we have a lot of steam to blow off."

I gestured to Hudson to keep his mouth shut.

"Why's that?" Casey said.

Hudson swallowed a mouthful of jerky. "Uh . . . well . . . it's . . . stuff you won't get till you're older, squirt. Simple as that."

After Casey had something to eat and was laying in the cot, I took Hudson outside. "Do me a favor; don't be bringing up any of our problems around him, got it?"

"I gotta ask, man, how do you know this kid?"

"We met when Delhoun sent me to the Bahamas to get that antidote. That was it. We talked, we connected."

"Alright, alright. Then I won't say anything." Hudson folded his arms over his chest. "I have a feeling you might have to say something sooner or later, man. It's not a bad thing; it's the truth. You have PTSD. I'm pretty sure you'll be able to explain it. He might have it now, too, because of what he just went through. You can help him understand. Do you get that?"

Sighing, I nodded. "I'll give it a shot."

Hudson patted my arm. "I have faith in you, man." He smiled before heading back to the rest of the unit.

* * *

I wasn't surprised when Apone and Hicks were a bit hesitant on letting Casey stay with us. They didn't deny my reasoning for not wanting to leave him at the middle school, but they had concerns of their own.

"You do realize we have to explain all this to the base administrator and General Russell, right?" Hicks asked. "They're stingy enough when it comes to letting the kids of Marines on base, so this might be an issue. We don't have childcare facilities. We have a lot of dangerous equipment-"

"I won't let him out of my sight, I promise," I said.

"You think you can do that?" Hicks glanced at Apone. "OK, but that means you're gonna be held responsible if something happens, do you understand? You're this kid's guardian now, until we track down his parents, tell them where we are, and send him home, got it?"

"Got it."

Hicks nodded. "Alright. I'll go make some phone calls."

When I left the tent, I overheard Hicks and Apone continue the conversation. "You're just letting him do this?" Apone asked.

"I think it'll be good for him," Hicks replied. "I trust him. It's important he feels that. Closing him in won't help him recover; letting him do a couple things that he wants will display trust. If he feels like people trust him, it'll make him happier. I think Doctor Ranelli's told him something similar; that's why he's never been on suicide watch back home."

Apone was silent for a moment. "Fine. I trust you, and if you trust Drake, then I have no problem trusting him, either."

* * *

_Question: If this had taken place right after Drake received his diagnosis, would he have been trusted to do something like this?_

_Author's Note: Picture Drake at his biological kid's tee-ball games. He's the guy that'll be really quiet until something actually happens, and then stands up and swears in front of every other parent and their kids. And Vasquez is sitting next to him with her head in her hands.  
_

_Hudson is likely doing something embarrassing when his kid makes a home run, but is really proud when he learns about it and takes them for ice cream afterward.  
_

_Wierzbowski probably won't have kids. I can't see it unless someone provides a good argument as to why he would._


	4. Chapter 4

We spent two days in Georgia before flying back to base. Unfortunately, Casey wasn't the only separated child case being dealt with, so it would take some time before someone was assigned to start the process of finding his parents. In the meantime, General Russell granted me permission to watch over Casey until we got news regarding his parents.

Some of the other Marines were thrilled about this. Others, not so much. Dietrich thought this was stupid and we should've followed protocol and left Casey at the middle school. Vasquez flat-out refused to play babysitter. And Crowe thought Casey was going to get hurt.

Ferro was being immensely sweet and helpful when we flew back to D.C. She explained to Casey how to wear the harness and to follow instructions if something went wrong and not to touch anything. He simply nodded along, and buckled himself in next to me. He really liked the feeling of taking off, and the turbulence didn't bother him at all. While everyone else was looking ill, Casey was smiling and laughing. This was just a roller coaster to him. Part of me wished I could have that feeling, but I guess a weaker stomach was just another sign I was getting older.

I'm not going to go on a spiel about aging and how I'm well-aware I had most of my teenage years taken away from me. Hell, I'm the one who did that. I'm the one who took away my time to be somewhat careless and stupid. I'm the only who took away the time to really figure out who I was and what I wanted to do.

I still don't know what I want to do.

* * *

Hicks gave Casey a spare room in the living quarters. He also gave a very basic rundown of the rules, and expected me to explain and enforce them. Plus, he gave me a job. "I don't want this kid sleeping in the same dirty clothes for God knows how long he's gonna be here. Take him to a mall, and get him a couple pairs of clothes, hygiene supplies. Anything that's gonna make him comfortable here, OK?"

"Will do," I said.

"You the squad corporal?" Casey asked.

"Yep." Hicks smiled at him. "How'd you know?"

"'Cause you're bossing around Drake and you don't got a sergeant's sign on your jacket."

Hicks glanced at me, then back down at Casey. "You're pretty smart, kid. Tell you what, tomorrow, you can be an honorary corporal, and boss around everyone else with me."

"Sure thing." Casey looked up at me when Hicks walked away. "This is nice. I kinda thought you all slept in bunk beds together."

"Some bases have that, as does boot camp," I said. "You get your own bathroom, too."

"Sweet." Leaning against his crutches, Casey glanced around the room, but didn't leave my side. "Do you all have, like, five minutes to shower?"

"No. We can take as long as we want. Base life is completely different to boot camp."

"Well, I been playing with my toy soldiers all wrong, then." Casey paused. "They're gone now, though."

"Alright, how about this; when we go get you some extra clothes, we'll look for some new soldiers for you, OK?"

"Really?"

I nodded.

"At least you're not a stranger, Drake. Ma says never to accept gifts from strangers."

* * *

We headed out twenty minutes later. I showed Casey how to use a Metro card, but he made the mistake of just following me through the gate instead of swiping his card to pay for his ride.

I smirked. "You've never been in a city before, have you?"

"Not a big one like this." Casey stuck close to me as we headed down to the platform. It wasn't rush hour, but he was still intimidated by everything. On the train, he leaned against me, looking a little afraid of everyone else on board. When we got off, he hung onto me, glancing around nervously at his new location.

"You doing OK?" I asked.

Casey nodded. "How do you find your way 'round here?"

"This marvelous little thing called a map."

"Oh." Casey's jaw dropped when we walked through the glass doors of a mall. "This place is bigger than school!"

"Look, let's get you some clothes. Explore later, OK?" I gently took his arm, leading him down to a clothing store.

"Aww. Can't we do that later?"

"No."

"Fine."

I pretty much let Casey wander around and pick out five shirts and five pairs of pants, plus two pairs of pajamas, and two packs of socks and underwear. Afterwards, he said, "You're awesome, Drake, I usually have to run my choices by Ma before I can have something."

I smirked. "Well, I'm not your mom. Or your dad."

"Right. You're a friend. Maybe my best friend."

My smirk faded. "Don't you have someone your own age that you can call your best friend?"

"Not really. I got friends, but no one I'd really call my best friend. I mean, I did once, but we kinda . . . stopped talking to each other."

"How come?"

"I dunno. Stuff we liked changed, I guess. And he started talking to other people, probably people he thought were better than me."

I didn't reply. I kinda knew how that felt. "I make you feel like you're interesting?"

"Not 'interesting,' but just . . . cared about, I guess. Y'know, sometimes, I kinda get the feeling that I bug people. You don't act like I bug you." Casey looked at me. "Do I bug you?"

"No."

"If I did, would you tell me?"

"Yeah."

Casey continued staring at me. He then looked forward, and said, "We should probably go now, right?"

I stood up, sighing. "Yeah. We paid for all your stuff, so, we can go. By the way, you owe me sixty-seven dollars and fifty-five cents."

"My piggy bank got destroyed in the storm, Drake. Plus, I think I only had twenty dollars in there."

"I know. I was only kidding."

Instead of going right to the toy store, we went to the food court. Again, I let Casey get whatever he wanted, but I was gradually losing my appetite. It had been well over forty-eight hours since I last really thought about my PTSD and other issues. Without warning, they were catching up to me. I was staring into space, trying not to let my thoughts bowl over me. However, once they start, they don't stop.

Casey's voice jolted me from them. "Drake, are you OK?"

I blinked, and looked at him. "Yeah, I'm OK."

"You don't look OK. You kinda looked like you just got sucker-punched in the stomach."

"It's none of your business. Eat your lunch so we can get outta here."

"I thought we were going-"

"We'll go another day. I want to get back to base."

"But Hicks said-"

"Shut up. Just shut up."

"Jesus, Drake, why dontcha just tell me what's going on instead of flipping out? I'm not dumb."

I gave him a hard look. "Don't even think about arguing with me. If I say I don't want to talk about it, then I don't want to talk about it."

After that, Casey was silent. He was silent as we went back to base, not even bothering to look at me the whole way. He stared out the window of the train, and I heard him sigh.

I felt guilty for what I did and said, but I didn't know how to apologize. I felt like I needed to retreat into my mind for a little while, after being forced outside of it for a few days. It was like locking myself in a small, dark closet. I knew I shouldn't go in there, but something was pulling me toward it.

When we got back to base, I immediately went to Ranelli's office after putting Casey in his room. Ranelli was adjusting the blinds for his plants to get the sunlight they needed, and he glanced over his shoulder at me. "Hello, Drake. Anything I can do for you?"

I shut the door. "I don't know."

"Well, talk. We can't solve the problem if we don't know what it is yet."

I sat on the couch, rubbing my face. "I was . . . I wasn't thinking about my problems for the last two or three days. I was down in Georgia with everyone else, you know, with the rescue efforts. Just today, when I was at the mall, I . . . everything kinda caught up with me, and now . . . I want to push everyone away and curl up in my head. I don't know why."

"I'm guessing you didn't have a lot of time to be by yourself when you were down there."

"No, sir, none."

"It's not wrong or even unhealthy for you to have solitude. Clearly, you need it to have all your ducks in a row. You need to take some time to put everything back together and re-analyze."

"How?"

"Go on a hike, alone. Maybe get a massage. Go into the wilderness and sit for awhile. Let yourself explore your mind. Don't worry about whether or not you'll come across your PTSD. Don't try to avoid it. Let everything flow freely, at its leisure."

"What if my PTSD is the only thing I come across?"

"Then it's the only thing you come across. That's no guarantee it'll happen, though. You might not see it at all. The point of going out and being alone is just that; being completely alone to let your mind recharge. That's it. There's nothing complicated about it."

* * *

I didn't feel like waiting until tomorrow to do this, mainly because I didn't want to deal with everyone right now. After getting a ride out to the bay, I walked to a secluded hill overlooking the beach. You could hear the birds, and the waves against the shore. The air smelled and tasted salty. To my left were the woods, to my right was grass and sand, behind me was the beach parking lot, and in front of me was blue water.

I had to just let the silence soak in, like I did when I was in the Bahamas. Unlike the Bahamas, however, I didn't have to worry about anything here. I wasn't worrying about how much time I had to get an antidote to Spunkmeyer. I wasn't plotting to break into a terrorist lab to steal something. I could be completely at peace here.

I lay on my back with my hands behind my head, taking in a breath and choosing to focus on any physical sensations I was having. The gentle throbbing in my chest let me know I was alive. I've endured some shit, but I'm still alive. Right below my chest, I focused on the surgical incision made to remove the silver pearls that grew because I had been put in cryo after my first two encounters with the flower. I've gotten used to the soreness and having to avoid doing certain things because it's such a large incision.

Aside from muscles, the space below the incision is empty. It will probably fill with scar tissue at some point, or it will remain a very small void. Either way, there are no more silver pearls. There will never be anymore silver pearls. Ever. Not if I can help it.

Under my incision, I focused on my stomach. Not on whether I had eaten or not, but on any emotions I was feeling within it. I've been told that there are theories about the gut being a second, more primitive brain, because we feel so much emotion in it. I took note of the lack of anxious twisting, knotting, turning, tightening feelings. It was almost like nothing was there, for once. Nothing was there, nothing was happening aside from the natural process of digestion. That probably meant I could stop focusing on it, and think about something else.

I started venturing into my head. Much like Hudson's hypnosis session with Ranelli, I tried to turn it into something more . . . feasible. I pictured myself walking down a winding staircase into a castle-like structure. The further down I went, the darker it got. I had no flashlight or anything to help me see.

I came to a large, circular room, lit only by a couple of torches on the walls. That was enough for me to see what was lying around the room. It was different versions of myself, some chained to the wall, others wandering around, pacing anxiously. Many of the ones chained to the wall, were covering their faces, hunching in on themselves.

My guess is that they each embodied a part of myself. Something I really didn't like about myself. Hell, that's probably why there was a guy walking around and kicking each of them. That was me trying to shut down the parts of myself I hated.

My purpose here was just to observe. I started backing away, and going back up the stairs.

A voice began to slowly pull me out of my relaxed state. It sounded like laughter from a woman I didn't recognize right off the bat, and then I heard her yell, "There's nothing to be afraid of, 'Ski, come on!"

I sat up, and saw Eliza tugging on Wierzbowski's arm as they jogged down the beach. Wierzbowski kept glancing out at the bay. "How much further are we going?"

"Not too far," Eliza replied.

I watched them go, and I don't think they were able to see me. Out of curiosity, I stood up and walked over to a point where I could observe them without them seeing me. When they came to a narrow stretch a beach where the tide was able to lap at the sides of the hill, Wierzbowski picked up Eliza, carrying her until the beach got wider. However, he didn't set her down right away.

"What's the matter? You can set me down now. 'Ski?"

Wierzbowski was red with embarrassment. "Sorry. I . . . Can we sit here?"

"Sure. Is there something wrong?"

"N-No, I just . . . I . . ." Wierzbowski stopped. "That's it. I'd rather sit here, alone, with you. I-If you don't mind."

"Well, you had me worried that something was wrong."

"No, nothing's wrong. I'm sorry."

"You can be honest. What do you really want right now?"

Wierzbowski was quiet for a moment, looking off to his side, and then back at Eliza. "Just some peace and quiet with you next to me."

"Aww, you could've said something before."

"I was afraid you were going to think-"

"No. No, no, no, 'Ski, you need to stop worrying so much about that." Eliza knelt by him, gripping his shoulders. She then snuggled up next to him. "I thought we talked about this."

"We did. It's . . . I'm not changing overnight."

"No, but just try to put some more effort into that change. I know you can do it." She kissed his cheek, and gently shook him. "I know you have it in you, ya big silly."

That was when he hugged her tight. He hugged her and held her close to him. There was silence between them.

* * *

I went back to base about an hour later, feeling less anxious, but tired. I managed to drain myself of all mental energy. Most people claim that a meditative session makes them feel more energized and rejuvenated. Not me. I want a nap now.

Almost as soon as I entered the living quarters, I was grabbed and slammed against the wall by a particularly enraged-looking Hudson.

"You are all kinds of fucked-up, man! You _yelled_ at Casey when he did nothing to you?!" Hudson kept smacking me into the wall. "You're a sick son-of-a-bitch, Drake!"

"Hudson-ow!-stop! Hey, I didn't mean to snap at him, OK?"

Hicks approached us rather calmly, and pulled Hudson off of me. "Every time I see you two fighting, I know it's over something moronic. What's going on?"

"He fucking yelled at Casey in the mall," Hudson said.

"I wasn't feeling well. It's fine. I talked to Ranelli. I went for a walk to clear my head. Everything's . . . Everything's fine."

Hicks sighed. "Hudson, go take the laundry basket around to everyone's rooms and pick up their dirties." Once Hudson left, Hicks looked me in the eye. "This is one of the reasons Apone and I were a little hesitant on letting you do this. I knew-don't ask me how-I just knew that at one point or another, you were going to have some kind of a meltdown in front of the kid."

"It's not like I did it on purpose."

"No, I know that. You do need to apologize and explain yourself. Think you can do that?"

"Why?"

"Do you really want him to be miserable while he's here? We've heard nothing about his parents, so we have no fucking clue how long he's going to be here. Plus, this was _your_ idea. You thought we'd be a better place for him to stay."

"You're not saying I was wrong, are you?"

"Absolutely not. You have a unique experience no one else in this unit has. You may have saved his life, not just from being crushed to death under his own house, but from some unholy individual using the aftermath of the hurricane to prey on unsuspecting victims. Remember that. We are the better place for him to stay, so, don't mess this up. Go apologize."

Nodding, I stepped away from Hicks, and headed down the hall to Casey's room. The door was half-open, but I knocked anyway. "Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Casey was lying on the bed, facing away from the door. He didn't look at me when he spoke. "If you're just gonna explode again, then no."

"Well, I'm not." I grabbed a chair, and sat next to the bed. "I'm really sorry about what happened. It was wrong of me to do that."

He didn't respond.

I took a breath. "Would it help if I explained why?"

"I dunno, would it? You just said I didn't bug you, and then you blew up and got mad like I did bug you, even though you said I didn't."

I sighed. "That's not why. I didn't blow up because of you." I paused, trying to figure out how to explain my problems as best I could. "Casey, I'm actually very sick right now. It's not your typical sick like a cold or something, but it's . . . it's inside my head. I remember you telling me your mom works with stuff like this, right?"

"She'd never tell me 'bout it. Always told me I won't understand."

"So, you never heard her mention post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD?"

"Heard, but that's it."

"Well, I have it. I went through something scary. I went through something where . . . I could've died. It wasn't a combat situation, but it was just as scary, if not worse. Now, many people can go through something like that and not be too effected by it. I was effected by it . . . in a bad way. I started having bad dreams every single night. At random times throughout the day, I'd start reliving what happened. I'm physically here, but my mind is somewhere else, somewhere I don't want it to be. The worst part is that I can't control it. Even if I'm not . . . reliving it or having nightmares, I feel awful. I feel sad all the time. Sometimes I feel angry for no reason. Sometimes . . . Sometimes I snap at people because I'm thinking about so many things at one time, and . . . I feel guilty all the time, even though I've done nothing wrong, even though what happened wasn't my fault."

I wasn't sure what else to say after that. I could've gone on, but I didn't want to overwhelm Casey.

Sitting up, Casey pulled himself over to me. "So, you ain't mad or bugged by me?"

I shook my head. "No."

"You just dealing with stuff inside your head, stuff that makes it hard to talk to people, 'cause you don't know how to explain it." Casey looked up at me. "That's the only thing Ma told me about mind problems."

I nodded. "That's basically it."

Casey put his arms around my neck. "I'm sorry, Drake."

"What the hell are you sorry for?"

"For getting mad at you."

"No. You shouldn't apologize for that, seriously. When I'm . . . being an ass, tell me. No sickness of any kind is an excuse to be a jerk."

"Hudson was really mad when I told him what you did. Did he beat on you?"

"A little, yeah."

"'Cause he said he was gonna kick your ass through the wall-"

"Hudson can't hurt a fly if he tried. He's being . . . well, he's being Hudson. He says a lot of crap, and then doesn't do it, or can't do it, so, take everything he says with a pinch of salt." Sighing, I hugged Casey back. "By the way, I promise that we'll go back to the mall, tomorrow, and get those toy soldiers for you, OK?"

"OK."

"You better behave between now and then, or else it's not happening."

"OK."

A weak smile crossed my face. "I know you've only been here a few hours, but are you liking it here so far?"

"Yeah."

Without much of a warning, Hicks poked his head in the room. "Chow time, guys. Come on down."

* * *

_Question: Should Drake have waited to explain his condition to Casey? Do you think someone like Wierzbowski or Hudson would've explained it if Drake didn't?_

_Author's Note, Serene Fairy, I like the swear jar idea, so I might use it later on. Hudson is probably going to lose a lot of money now._


	5. Chapter 5

Casey sat next to me in the mess hall, and I was silently hoping that no one embarrassed him or made him upset. I did that once, and I don't want to do it again.

"You know, man," Hudson said, "we can't serve this shit to our guest. Why don't we-"

"No, Hudson." Hicks didn't even let him finish. "By the way, watch your mouth."

"Drake said we could cuss in front of the kid, man."

Hicks gave me a dirty look. "Really?"

I shrugged. "Casey's OK with it, so, I don't care."

"No. You all are going to keep the cussing to yourselves when Casey's here, you got that straight?" Hicks glared at each of us. "You guys know what a swear jar is, right?"

"Oh, no, no, don't do _that_, man!" Hudson whined.

"You curse in front of the kid, put five dollars in the jar. When he leaves, he'll take the money with him."

"Seriously?" Casey looked up at Hicks, suddenly interested in getting free money.

"Yeah." Hicks winked at him.

I glanced at Casey, hissing through my teeth, "Keep your mouth shut, sport. You know I'm taking you to the fucking-aw, darn."

Casey turned his gaze to me. "That's, like, fifteen bucks you owe, now. And Hudson owes . . . forty bucks. He was cussing up a storm when I told him what you did in the mall."

"Hey!" Hudson slammed his fist on the table.

"This is really a big surprise, Hudson already emptying his paycheck in the swear jar," Vasquez said, somewhat sarcastically, "if he didn't already put it in his stomach or his girlfriend."

"You shut the fu . . . fudge up, man."

"Nice catch," Hicks muttered.

"Why can't we just duct-tape his mouth shut?" I asked.

"Because then I won't get any money," Casey replied.

I sighed. "You have a point."

There was silence for a few minutes. We all jumped a little when something clattered on the ground, and we saw Spunkmeyer had dropped his fork. "Crud," he mumbled, getting under the table to get it.

I froze a little when I felt Spunkmeyer touching my right leg, and I looked to see he had put a small, folded piece of paper on my knee. Setting my silverware down, I took the paper, and opened it. It read, "_Drake, meet me in the yard after chow. Gotta talk. - Spunkmeyer_."

I caught Spunkmeyer looking at me as I put the paper in my pocket. Something had to really be bugging him if he was secretly passing notes like a third-grader under the dinner table.

"How are things going with you and your girlfriend, 'Ski?" Ferro asked.

"So far, so good," Wierzbowski replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Just curious."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she looks like 'Ski," Frost muttered.

"Actually, she's very pretty, Frost," Wierzbowski snapped.

"Then how come you never show us pictures?"

"She hasn't given me any pictures."

Crowe smirked. "I still don't think this woman exists."

"She does," Vasquez said, not looking up from her tray. "Her name is Eliza McAllister. She's very small, looks very frail, has red-blonde hair, and is . . . odd. Not like Hudson's girlfriend, but definitely odd."

"Don't you talk 'bout my Miranda like that, man," Hudson mumbled with his mouth full.

Vasquez ignored him. "Just saying. She's not constantly petting Wierzbowski or cuddling him or massaging him or any of the shit Miranda does with you in public."

"Oh, would you lookit that? You gotta put five bucks in the swear jar, man."

"I'm gonna punch you after dinner, Hudson."

* * *

I headed down to the exercise yard after everyone dispersed from the dinner table. Spunkmeyer was standing in the middle of the yard, looking anxious. "Alright, what's up?" I asked.

He ended up leading me onto the roof of the base, where we sat facing the woods. The sun was starting to set, and was painting the skyscrapers and the trees separating the base and the city a deep red-orange color. Spunkmeyer didn't make eye contact with me. Instead, he crossed his legs, and absentmindedly brushed dust off his boots.

"Did you say anything to your therapist about me and Hudson yet?" Spunkmeyer asked.

"No," I said.

"Well, good. I . . . I'm not ready to talk to Hudson yet. Or Ferro."

"Got cold feet?"

"No. I've been thinking about stuff, and . . . I need to talk to somebody who understands it."

"OK."

Spunkmeyer swallowed past a lump in his throat before taking a deep breath. "When I got poisoned, I did have those . . . dreams and hallucinations that you talk about. It was one long series of dreams about . . . my relationships with some people here, and with people I've never met."

"Your biological parents?"

"My father, yeah. I don't know, or care, about knowing where my mother is and whether she's still alive or not, because she killed him. She killed him, and she didn't want me." Spunkmeyer took his cap off, and clutched it tightly. "I'd been able to put this all somewhat behind me, but it all came flooding back when I was unconscious. I used to have a lot of dreams where I was walking around places-malls, fairgrounds, parks, city streets, you name it-crying and calling for my dad. I had those dreams again. W-When I was in the hospital, waiting for treatment, I . . . I saw him."

"Your father?"

Spunkmeyer nodded, tears rolling down his face. "He told me he was proud of me." He swallowed again, and sobbed. "I wanted to be with him!"

I thought for a moment, while rubbing Spunkmeyer's shoulder. "When you say 'be with him,' you mean-"

"Just be with him, not die. I know a lot of people would think I'm suicidal if I said that to them, which is why I went to you."

"Well, thanks." I couldn't bring myself to smile, even a little bit. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It was a dream, though. What you want or do in dreams doesn't necessarily translate to real life." I gently squeezed him. "Have you been having these kinds of dreams since you came back to base?"

"Once in awhile. Lately, my dreams have been about you and Hudson and Ferro. Last night, it was about me going up to you and telling you that I needed to talk to you. A couple nights ago, I was trying to talk to Hudson, but he wouldn't listen. A-And a few more nights ago, I dreamt about . . ." Spunkmeyer stopped, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

"What?"

Spunkmeyer moved closer to lower his voice. "I dreamt that Ferro and I . . . lost our virginities to each other."

"Oh." I nodded. "Was it fun?"

"I don't know. I-I've never done it before, and I'm not sure I want to."

"Completely up to you, but you can't let Ferro down if she wants to do it with you."

"We haven't even talked about this yet."

"No. You need to deal with Hudson first." I glanced upward, noting the sky becoming more tinged with pink as the sun set deeper on the western horizon. "It's not good to let it fester."

"Has he even said anything to you about it?"

"I haven't said anything to him, and that's my fault. I will tonight; I promise." I gave Spunkmeyer another squeeze. The more he told me about his childhood (or lack thereof), the worse I felt for him.

* * *

Hicks had set up the swear jar in Apone's office. Hudson was counting out forty dollars from his wallet, and Vasquez had already put her five in the jar. I stepped in the office behind Hudson. "Hey, paying up?"

"Yeah, man," Hudson sighed. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Casey wasn't around. "Forty fucking bucks, I can't believe this."

"I'm sorry. Hopefully, this'll be it for you." I waited for Hudson to put his money in the jar, and then slid mine in. "Can I talk to you in private?"

"About what?"

"About Spunkmeyer."

"Alright. Come on down to my room, man."

Hudson hadn't showered yet, so I had to sit and wait while he got himself clean and fluffy. I could hear him half-mumbling and half-singing to himself. I glanced around the room, noting how messy it was. His clothes weren't in their proper drawers, and I think that was a pair of underpants I saw laying on top of the dresser. I don't know, and I certainly wasn't touching it.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted one of the drawers on Hudson's nightstand were open. Inside were likely every single letter Miranda's ever sent to him. I know going through something as personal as this was an extreme level of wrong, but a part of me was curious. Glancing toward the bathroom door, I took one of the letters out. To make a long story short, the letters were not as sappy and sickening as Hudson and Miranda behave in public. In fact, it was the opposite. They actually wrote about their lives, and their real thoughts on everything, including the people in their lives.

The latest letter was primarily about Miranda's upcoming graduation. Of course, she wanted Hudson there, and she also wanted me there. Just me and Hudson. It was because we had the biggest impact on her life. We meant a lot to her.

Ever since her and Hudson started dating, I knew I had been kinda neglecting our friendship. I wanted to stay out of the way, and let her fall in love with Hudson, because I knew she still had some feelings for me. There are times where my overactive brain asks the scenario, "What if you and Vasquez break up? What if Miranda found out? Would she immediately dump Hudson to be with you? What would that do to Hudson?"

When I think about it, I just know that she wouldn't spontaneously break up with Hudson. The way they write to each other and behave around each other solidifies that they're going to be together for a long time.

I guess maybe I was missing that first trip I took to D.C. I actually enjoyed my time with Miranda (even though I didn't reciprocate her feelings). She was the first civilian, aside from Delhoun, to form a relationship with me. That "date" we went on was the first time in a very long time I felt somewhat at peace.

It wasn't wrong that I wanted to spend some time alone with her. I know I had my appointment tomorrow regarding my bandage, so maybe that would be a good time to talk.

I had put everything back where it was when Hudson came out of the bathroom, still drying his hair. "Sorry I took so long, man," Hudson said. He threw on a T-shirt. "Alright, man, what is it about Spunkmeyer do we need to talk about?"

"You and him need to sit down and have a . . . therapeutic conversation in order to fix what happened a couple years ago. It's been bothering him," I said.

Hudson sat on the bed, pulling his socks halfway up to his knees. "What do you mean when you say 'therapeutic,' man?"

"I mean, you and him are going to sit in a room, alone-maybe with Ranelli-and talk. If one of you gets angry, you are fully allowed to just get angry. Yell at each other. You both need to know exactly how each other is feeling in order to start . . . healing, and mending your relationship. All those emotions need to be exposed. You get what I'm saying?"

Hudson nodded. "Does he know 'bout this?"

"Who? Spunkmeyer? Yeah. I'm the one who gave him the idea. I even said I'd talk to Ranelli about setting up a room for you, after talking to you."

Another nod, plus a sigh. "If you think this'll work, man, then go for it."

"Alright. I'll talk to Ranelli tomorrow." I patted Hudson's shoulder. "You going to the lounge?"

"Not . . . Not tonight. I just wanna be alone for a little while. Need to think, man."

I gave his shoulder another pat and a squeeze. "Good night, Hudson." I stood up to leave the room. After closing the door behind me, I headed to Wierzbowski's room. He was in his bathroom, rubbing aftershave on his face.

"Hey, Drake," he said, when he saw me in the mirror. "Need something?"

"No, not really. Just wanna talk until I feel ready to go to sleep."

"Sure. I'll be out in a minute."

I picked up the scent of his aftershave, noticing it was significantly stronger than the usual crap we get at the military shops. "You actually bought real aftershave?"

"No. Eliza gave it to me as a birthday present."

I was quiet for a moment. "I saw you and her by the beach today."

"Did you? We didn't see you."

"I was on the hill, meditating-well, clearing my head for a little bit."

"Ah. Yeah, we were just wandering around the area. What all . . . did you observe?"

"Up until you cuddled her while sitting under the cliff. I fell asleep after."

"Oh." Wierzbowski's cheeks flushed red.

"There's nothing wrong with that. I'm actually proud of you. You're getting somewhere with your relationship." I smiled. "You know, when we were at Miranda's for Hudson's birthday, I noticed you wanted to get closer to Eliza."

"Yeah. I'm not comfortable, like Hudson and Miranda are, with being affectionate with Eliza . . . in public, I mean. I-It doesn't mean I don't love her-"

"You think you're shy about cuddling? Look at Hicks. He won't do much of anything with his girlfriend in public, much less than you."

A weak smile crossed Wierzbowski's face. "Right. Yeah, I . . . that's all I really wanted was to be close to her. It seems silly to want something as trivial as hugging and snuggling so strongly."

I shook my head. "It's not trivial. It's a way showing that you love each other. No different from kissing or even sex."

"OK. I'm certainly not ready for that yet."

"For sex? No, you're not ready at all. How many dates have you been on?"

"Gotta be more than six, now. Yeah, more than six."

"And you haven't even touched the subject with her?"

"No."

"Are you afraid of what she'll say?"

"Not really. I just think we're good where we are. I'm not . . . I really don't want to do it."

"Hey, that's nothing to be ashamed of. You don't have to do it if you don't want to. It's not the most important part of a relationship."

Looking unsure as to what to say, Wierzbowski nodded. "What if she asks?"

"Be honest. That's really the most important part of a relationship," I said. "If you have that, you're golden."

Another weak smile came across Wierzbowski's face. "Thanks, Drake."

"You look like there's more you want to say." I drew my knees up, resting my chin on them. "You and her aren't having problems, are you?"

"No, not at all. Well . . . There is one thing, but . . . I don't know how to bring it up with her."

"Uh-oh."

"Not terrible or anything, it's just she . . . she always has a date in mind, and as soon as we're done with one, she wants to know when we can do something else. Sometimes, I don't know how I'm going to feel on that day, and I'm worried that we'll go out one night, and I'm not to going to be very pleasant. Sometimes, I just don't want to think about it. I want to relax, or . . . I want to be the one planning something. Trouble is, I don't know how, and I don't know how to tell her, 'no.'"

"Like I said before, you need to be honest. You need to call her and tell her that you're tired and you want to cancel."

"What if she-"

"You can't keep sacrificing your personal feelings like that. That's why people took advantage of you as a civilian. They knew you were a pushover, and you are not a pushover. You certainly don't _look_ like a pushover at first glance. Hell, when we do American football in the yard, nobody can tackle you easily, bud. You need to be able to . . . be that solid wall when it comes to relationships as well. You need to know when a good time to be soft is, and when a good time to be solid is. You get what I'm saying?"

"Yeah."

"Even if she doesn't take advantage of you, you're going to exhaust yourself. That's what leads to problems, mentally. Do you want to start drinking again?"

"N-No."

"Then be honest and tell her exactly how you feel. Confidence. You need it."

Wierzbowski nodded. "Alright, I'll call her in the morning."

"Are you actually looking forward to your next date?"

"I don't know."

"Then use this next one to tell her. Don't call her in the morning." I stood up. "I'm gonna go check on Casey."

"Good night, Drake." Wierzbowski opened a drawer on his nightstand, pulling out a book. "Hope you sleep the whole night."

"'Night, Wierzbowski." I shut the door, and headed down the hall to Casey's room. The base was gradually getting more quiet as the minutes ticked down to lights-out. I could hear less talking and more broadcasting of a baseball game on a TV in the lounge. Hicks was talking to Frost about some inspection report. Apone was on the phone with someone important.

Casey's door was closed, so I knocked.

"Who is it?" Casey asked.

"It's Drake."

Casey opened the door. He had already showered, and was wearing the pajamas we bought earlier today. "What?" he asked.

"Just checking on you, that's all."

"Oh, well, you can come in if you want." Casey jumped in bed, yanking the covers back. "When do y'all go to sleep?"

"Lights-out is nine," I said, covering a yawn.

"It's only eight-thirty, and you sound tired. I never get to stay up this late. I always gotta be in bed by eight."

"Well, you can stay up an extra hour here. Look, I got a doctor's appointment in the morning, so we'll head out to the mall sometime after . . . eleven. There's some stuff I gotta talk about with her."

"You OK, Drake? How come you gotta see a doctor?"

"I had surgery a few weeks ago, and they need to look at my incision to make sure it's healing the right way."

"Can I see it?"

"No. You can see my bandage, though." I lifted my shirt to show him the bandage wrapped tightly around my middle.

"Cool."

"Won't be so cool when you're older." I tucked my shirt back in, and sighed. "Alright, are you all set here?"

"Yep."

"You brushed your teeth?"

"Yep."

"OK." I put my hand on the doorknob, ready to go to bed myself.

"Hey, Drake?"

"What?"

Casey was quiet for a moment. "Could you stay a couple more minutes?"

I gave another sigh. "Fine." I sat on the bed, my shoulders slumped. "Lemme guess, you're homesick?"

Casey nodded. He looked like he was about to cry.

My gaze softened, and I gestured that he could crawl over and hug me. I hugged him as well, patting his back and whispering, "We'll get you home soon, I promise."

"Did somebody call Ma?"

"I don't know. I'll ask Hicks in the morning."

Casey buried his face in my chest, sobbing. I felt awful that there was nothing better I could do for him. The most I could do was sit there and let him cry on me for as long as he needed.

I knew that if I become a father someday, this was something I would have to do, possibly regularly. I mean, I hope my kid will go to me for comfort when they need it. Not to mention, it was nice to feel needed for something.

It gradually got quieter out in the hallway, and Casey's crying finally subsided. I think he wore himself out. Gently, I put him back under the covers, and ruffled his hair. "Good night, sport."

He must've been asleep already, because he didn't respond.

* * *

Most of us were already down in the mess hall when Casey joined us in the morning. "You guys got cereal?" he asked.

"Yeah," Hicks replied. "There's a dispenser near the kitchen door. Grab a bowl and pick what you want."

"It's all really bland, squirt," Hudson chirped. "Supposed to help you take a dump, but it does the exact opposite, man."

"Hudson, what've I told you about bathroom talk at the dinner table?" Apone asked without looking up from his tray.

"To not to." Hudson sighed.

"How 'bout orange juice?" Casey said.

"It's full of pulp, but we got a jug right here on the table for you," Hicks answered.

"It tastes funny, too, man," Hudson mumbled.

"For someone who clearly thinks with his stomach half the time, you sure do bitch about the . . . aw, nuts." Spunkmeyer stood up to go put five dollars in the swear jar.

Hudson smirked. "And it wasn't me who swore, man."

"Eat a sock, Hudson," Spunkmeyer growled.

"Maybe I will! Probably tastes better than the orange juice."

"Don't," I said.

Hicks changed the subject. "Drake, do you want someone to go with you to your checkup?"

"Nah, I'll be fine," I replied. "They're just looking under my bandage and taking it off if everything looks good."

"If you say so."

"Make sure you say 'hi' to Miranda for me, will you, man?" Hudson said.

I sighed. "Sure."

I left base a half-hour after breakfast, taking the Metro down to the hospital. The weather was really nice and I hoped it stayed that way for the whole day. I also hoped I didn't have a meltdown, but, that's something I hope for every day.

What was weird was that I didn't feel ridiculously anxious upon walking into the main lobby of the hospital. The waiting room was actually empty, aside from the receptionist in the window.

"Doctor Harrison's got somebody in right now," the receptionist said. "Have a seat, and you know what? Go ahead and change the channel on the TV."

Shrugging, I picked up the remote, and began absentmindedly flipping through the channels. Nothing caught my interest, as I figured it wouldn't be too long before Miranda saw me. Two minutes later, someone came out of the hallway leading to the doctors' offices, followed by Miranda.

"Come on back, Mark," she said, smiling.

I stood up and trailed her back to a small examination room. "Don't enjoy this too much," I said, taking my shirt off after she closed the door.

Miranda washed her hands and put on a pair of gloves. She was resisting the urge to smile, but I saw her blush when she saw me sitting on the exam bed with no shirt on. "I won't. This is work, remember? Plus, I have Will now."

"I know."

Miranda walked over to take my bandage off. "Alright, lie down." She adjusted her glasses before poring over my incision. "Did . . . one of your stitches pop?"

"Yeah. I got in a fight with Hudson, and he pushed me a little too hard. Dietrich fixed it up, though."

"OK. Just that one spot looks a little uneven, but if you're telling me the truth, it's nothing we should be concerned about." She looked me in the eye, her hands still on my stomach. "Anything else you want to talk about?"

"Yeah, actually." I sat up. "I can put my shirt back on, right?"

"Sure. What's going on?"

"It's nothing physical. I . . . just wanted to talk to you, as a friend. Noticed we really haven't done that since you and Hudson got together. I mean, I don't like you the way he does, but . . . I don't deny that we became close friends when we met, and I think we should take a little bit of time and . . . catch up."

Miranda worked her jaw while pulling off the gloves. "Would it make Will mad?"

"No. I don't think he'll mind. It's me, not some strange guy from your past. I'm his best friend, and we trust each other. Besides, I have my own girlfriend and I'm not trying to make a move on you. I know Vasquez might be royally pissed, but that's her issue."

"Do you mean we . . . talk over coffee or something?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I do have some time right now, so . . . sure. Let's go someplace." Miranda glanced at me while we left the room. "Are you sure you're OK, Mark? You seem like there's a lot on your mind."

"Gee, maybe that's why I'd like to talk at a damn coffee shop instead of in the damn hospital." I snorted. "Do you say silly things like that with Hudson?"

"He's usually the one saying really silly things."

* * *

_Question: How do you think Drake is really feeling about having so many personal responsibilities?_


	6. Chapter 6

When I actually sat across from Miranda in a café, it was surprisingly hard for me to actually begin a regular conversation with her. We sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes. I was tapping my coffee mug nervously, glancing between the hot drink and Miranda. "So . . . weather's been nice the last couple of days, right?"

Miranda nodded. "It has. Did you . . . get to see any of the cherry blossoms this year?"

"Yeah. I'm stationed here now." I snorted.

"Right. This isn't another mission for you."

More silence.

Miranda bit her lip. "Is something bothering you, Mark?"

I nodded. "I'm kinda overwhelmed right now, and . . . I feel like I need someone who's not directly involved to listen. I've got . . . Hudson and Spunkmeyer's shit on one side, and Wierzbowski's shit on the other, and then in front of me is . . . a young boy who I'm caring for until we can track down his parents. I suddenly just got thrust into a bunch of responsibilities, and I don't feel like I can manage any of it."

"I don't know if you're gonna believe me or not, Mark, but I have noticed a lot of changes with you. I know we haven't really talked in awhile, but I have seen some differences between now and when we first met. You do seem capable of handling a lot more than you did when I met you."

"That doesn't help."

"Do you want comfort, advice, or both?"

"Am I going to get charged for both?"

"You get a discount on a bundle."

"OK. I'm good with that."

"Alright, we'll start with advice; just tell people you're overwhelmed. I don't think your friends are out to make your life miserable. You trust them and you can tell them that even though you want to help them, they still need to keep it in the back of their minds that you can only take so much." Miranda shrugged. "That simple." She then gave me a quizzical look. "What's going on with Trevor? He seems like a big sweetie."

"He's trying to navigate his relationship with Eliza. It's not a problem with her, it's with him. Last night, he was telling me that he doesn't . . . he doesn't know how to say 'no' to her. They've gone on a lot of dates, and it's normally her planning them out, and he can't say 'no' to her, because he's afraid of upsetting her. I told him that he needs to stand up for himself before he starts reverting back to how he was when he got divorced. I hope he listens, and is honest with Eliza next time they see each other."

"Knowing Eliza, she'll be OK with it," Miranda replied. She then leaned in to whisper, "She kinda does the same thing, so, when Will was telling me about some of Trevor's issues, I had a feeling him and her would get along and be able to work out each other's problems."

"Should I tell that to Wierzbowski?"

"No. Let him figure it out for himself," Miranda said, a small smile crossing her face.

I shrugged. "Alright, then."

"Are you prepared for the comfort part now?"

"Sure. What is it?"

Miranda stood up and sat next to me, giving me a hug. "There you go, Mark." She rubbed my arm and squeezed me.

Sighing, I put my arm around her. "I knew you were gonna do this at some point today."

"And I knew you were going to say something like that." Miranda kissed my cheek. "I also have something I want to talk to you about you."

"What?"

"Could you come to my graduation?"

"So I can keep Hudson from being a moron? Absolutely."

"Well, there's that, and there's also . . . you do mean a lot to me. I don't think I would've been able to plow through this last year without you and your advice."

"If that's your reasoning, then I'll go. Just send me the date and time, and Hudson and I will be there. He's dealing with your parents, though."

Miranda smirked. "Yeah, I'm kinda anxious about that."

"What, Hudson meeting your parents?"

She nodded. "I just hope they get along."

"If he behaves himself, I think they will."

"Would you ever have Jenette meet your parents?"

"I have no desire to reconnect with my family. My squad is my family now."

"That's sad. They'd be proud-"

"You don't know my family. You have no fucking clue whether they'd be proud or not. I _embarrassed_ them. I can't show my face around them again."

"Maybe if you explained-"

"Get off the topic. Now."

* * *

I can remember several of the more sane inmates being happy that the military would allow them more interaction with their loved ones. I can also remember being adamant that I didn't want to be in contact with mine anymore.

That's all I want to say about it. I don't want to talk about it with anyone. Even in my own journal.

After catching up with Miranda, we parted ways with a hug, and I returned to base. I had promised Casey we'd go back to the mall to find new toy soldiers for him, so I had to do that next.

Casey was in the lounge, watching Hudson, Frost, Wierzbowski, and Crowe play cards. I folded my arms over my chest. "Really, guys? You're teaching him poker?"

"No," Wierzbowski said. "He just came in and decided to watch us. Nothing wrong with that."

"Hudson had to put a ten in the swear jar, though," Frost added.

"I'm already losing a lot of Oreos to you, man," Hudson moaned.

"Maybe if you played better, you wouldn't lose. Good thing we're not allowed to use real money. You'd be dead broke, dude."

"Kiss my butt, man."

"No one's kissing anyone's butt," Wierzbowski said.

"Because you're winning?" Casey asked.

"I can't tell you that, son."

"Well, I want you to win. You're the nicest guy here."

Wierzbowski grinned. "Thank you."

"Hey, I showed you what a real pulse rifle looks like," Frost said. "That's not nice enough for you?"

"You didn't shoot it, though. I wanted to see you use it on the range," Casey replied.

"Yeah, man," Hudson chirped. "You're losing points, here."

"And you're losing Oreos."

"Tell you what, sport, when we come back from the mall, I'll strap on my smartgun and show you what that baby can do on the range," I said.

"Really?" Casey whirled around excitedly.

I nodded, and winked for good measure.

"Cool! Let's go, I wanna see that!" He grabbed his crutches before getting off the couch.

"Didn't Hicks give you orders not to let him near the range?" Crowe asked, giving me a concerned look.

"He's not allowed there by himself. I'll be with him, I'll be safe with him. Nothing to worry about." I patted Casey's shoulder.

Before Casey and I left, I made a quick stop to Ranelli's office. "You, stay out here in the hall. I'll be right back, OK?"

"What're you doing, Drake?" Casey asked.

"Adult stuff." I ruffled Casey's hair. "Stay put and behave. This'll take me two minutes." I walked into Ranelli's office, seeing the psychologist pruning his plants.

"Good morning, Drake," Ranelli said. "Everything OK?"

"Yeah, I gotta ask you something. Can you . . . set aside a room for Hudson and Spunkmeyer?"

"Already done."

I frowned. "How?"

"Hudson came to me this morning about that."

Well, now I felt dumb. "Oh. OK."

"They'll have their session sometime this afternoon. I don't advise you watch."

"How come?"

"I don't want them getting any ideas of expectations you might have for either of them. I am merely going to be a neutral observer, who'll also step in if things get violent. That's it."

I nodded. "Alright, well, if . . . that's been taken care of, I'll be on my way."

"You sound disappointed, Drake."

"I dunno. It's . . . th-this whole thing makes me feel overwhelmed, and yet, at the same time-"

"You feel like you need to do this in order to maintain approval among your friends, even though they already accept you."

"Exactly." At this point, I wasn't even surprised that Ranelli knew what I was thinking.

"You gave Hudson the idea, and he acted on it. You did your part. Don't worry about it."

I left the room, and looked at Casey. "See? That didn't take very long, now, did it?"

"I didn't think it was gonna take long," Casey replied.

"Well, you looked a little worried I was gonna be in there all day." I picked him up to carry him down to the Metro stop.

Casey was less nervous on the train today. He was looking around with interest rather than fear, but I could still sense his uncertainty about whether or not he was going home soon. Sighing, I put my arm around him. "You OK? I know yesterday was a little rough for you."

"I'm fine, Drake. I think you're the one who had a rough day yesterday," Casey said.

"Well, that was yesterday. Trying not to think so much about the past, which is hard to do sometimes."

Casey was quiet for a few minutes. The look on his face told me he was thinking about something, and he finally spoke up when more people around us got off the train. "I miss Ma," he said, softly. "Did you ask Hicks whether somebody called?"

"I did. Nothing. I'm sorry."

I felt tears drip on my arm.

"Look, there were several other cases like yours when we left Georgia. We're trying to go through them as quick as we can, so other kids can find their parents as well, OK?"

"Am I less important than they are?"

"No, no, these people are working their butts off for you. These things take time. Besides, at least you're not cooped up in a hotel with a thousand strangers. The workers there would be taking you to dumb kiddie stuff just to keep you entertained until somebody throws a tantrum. I'm gonna show you how a smartgun works. You'd rather see that, right?"

Casey nodded.

"You're not less important than anybody else, sport." I rubbed his arm. "Trust me, I've felt that way before."

We got off the train at the same stop as yesterday. I let Casey lead the way in the toy shop, and we found a small section at the end of one aisle containing the plastic soldiers he used to have.

"Alright, now, how does this work? You get a set, or is this a buy one now, get another one later because your parents told you that you could only get one kind of thing?" I sat on the floor, letting Casey browse.

"Bit of both. Dad'll let me get a whole set, because he told me he used to build armies when he was a kid. Ma thinks it's silly to have more than one of the same figure." Casey picked up a large plastic bucket. "This's got ten riflemen, eight smartgunners, eight medics, eight dropship pilots, six squad corporals, and four sergeants. Dad said it's a good starter."

"They don't have the combat techs or dropship crew chiefs?" I mused, thinking of Hudson and Spunkmeyer.

"Oh, I made up some roles for some of my guys. Also, you can get advanced sets with more figures with different jobs and stuff. And you can get a dropship kit that'll fit your guys. Ma said I can't have it till Christmas."

"Well, looking at the price tag, I can see why," I snorted. "I'm not getting that for you."

"Darn." Casey set down one starter bucket and one advanced bucket. "This's what I had before the hurricane."

"Huh, I actually thought you had more."

"No. I don't get stuff till my birthday or Christmas. That's it. Spent a lot more time going to garage sales with my dad and getting stuff to put my guys in to do training and battles and stories and stuff. What'd you play with when you were a kid?"

"Whenever my sister was at a friend's house, I snuck into her room to play these really old video games on her emulator device. Other than that, I don't . . . I don't really remember too much of what I played with." _I really don't want to dig that deep into my head, so, don't make me._

"Cool." Casey picked up the buckets.

"Yeah, by the way, I'm taking forty dollars out of the swear jar, because that's how much this is costing me."

"Hicks said that was all for me."

"Hudson is likely going to cuss out loud a hundred more times while you're here, so, you have nothing to worry about. Alright, let me pay for this, and then we'll go get something to eat because I'm starving."

"We doing the food court again? They had some really good chicken wings there."

"No. I got something better in mind. It'll require a bit of a trip, though."

"Is it a secret?"

"No. Just a place I've been to before with friends."

* * *

I took Casey all the way to Crystal City, to the same comfort-food restaurant I went to with Miranda almost a year ago. That was kinda when I realized that a year had passed since my incident. I was honestly surprised as how much I've changed in a year alone. It's strange, and yet it made me wonder how much I'd change once my contract was up.

"Ma did fried chicken every Fourth of July," Casey said. "Always came out really good."

"Hicks keep telling us he's got a recipe that's been in his family for years, but we haven't seen anything," I replied, smirking. "Hudson says it doesn't exist."

"Where's Hicks from?"

"The state of Alabama."

"And you said you're from Pennsylvania, right?"

I nodded. "We're from all over. Hudson's from Minnesota, Vasquez is from Arizona. Heck, Wierzbowski and Crowe are from Great Britain."

"Don't they have all-British units, though?"

"Yeah, but because we don't have to worry about a language barrier, we can send American guys to British units and vice versa. We work together; that's how it's been for a long time." I paused. "Although, the language barrier thing might not be true. Some of their words mean something completely different over here."

"Why?"

"I don't know. That's just how it is." I looked around. "Hey, what time is it?"

"Twelve-ten, why?"

"Good enough." When a waiter came back around, I ordered myself a glass of whiskey. "This is stuff you can't have yet," I said, putting the glass to my mouth.

"What is it?"

"Alcohol."

"How come I can't have it?"

"Because you can't. You have to wait till you're twenty-one. Those're the rules, sport."

"Oh. You don't look like you're twenty-one, though."

I almost spit my drink out. "Oh, really? How old do you think I am, then?"

"Twenty."

"I'll take that as a compliment. I'm actually twenty-three."

"Ma said I'm supposed to tell people they look younger than they really are to be polite."

"So, you don't think I look twenty? You think I look older?"

"Being real, you look thirty."

I laughed. "Yeah . . . stress can do that to you."

"Stress can make you old?"

"It can make you _look_ older."

Casey lost interest in the subject. He looked out the window, watching people pass by. The curious watch eventually became a somewhat blank stare, like he retreated into his head. I knew that look all too well.

I reached over the table to turn his head toward me. "Hey, people don't like it when you stare like that, sport. You sure you're OK?"

He nodded.

I sighed. "Something's telling me otherwise. Talk to me, buddy."

"I wanna go home."

"Alright. Let me pay for lunch, and then we'll go right back to base."

Once the bill was paid, and a generous tip was left under my empty glass, I picked up Casey. Carrying him, plus the two buckets of plastic soldiers, and his crutches, made for slow going. _Should've brought Wierzbowski along to do the heavy lifting, _I thought, releasing my breath once we sat down in the Metro.

Like yesterday, Casey didn't talk the whole way back, but at least I knew it wasn't because I yelled at him. I decided it was best to leave him alone once we returned to base and not overwhelm him.

* * *

Wierzbowski told me that Hudson and Spunkmeyer had their big talk, and it was nothing short of loud and emotionally messy. Hudson was actually calm when it started, explaining to Spunkmeyer what he'd been feeling when Hicks started to successfully manage his bipolar two. Spunkmeyer was calm, too-somewhat. It didn't take long for him to blow up and accuse Hudson of abandoning him.

Hudson said he didn't know Spunkmeyer felt that way, and if he did, he would've thought more clearly about what he said.

Spunkmeyer called bullshit and accused Hudson of being so stupid at the time that he would've known Spunkmeyer felt abandoned if he'd paid more attention.

I think you get the picture. It was a back and forth battle about emotional ineptitude and abandonment and the fact that Spunkmeyer is struggling to get over his past. I expected all of that, as did everyone else who knew about it. The whole thing ended after they both burned themselves out, and Spunkmeyer was losing his voice. It took Hudson saying, "You're my little brother and I love you," for Spunkmeyer to drop his guard and hug Hudson.

Ranelli described it as two pressure valves being released at the same time. The best analogy that came to my head was gas; once you let it rip, you tend to feel a lot better. That's all Hudson and Spunkmeyer had to do.

I found Spunkmeyer in the exercise yard, sitting under a tree. He was pale, but smiling. "Hey, Drake. Hudson and I-"

"I heard," I said, sitting next to him. "I'll bet you two feel better."

"Yeah. We're gonna go out for drinks tonight and just talk, normally, about stuff." He sighed. "I wish we'd done this a long time ago."

"Well, nobody gave you the idea a long time ago. You two better thank me."

Spunkmeyer rolled his eyes, but smiled. "Thanks, Drake. We'll have a drink on you tonight."

The later hours of the afternoon dragged a little. Casey didn't come out of his room until dinner, and we all noticed he was picking at his food.

"I think it's supposed to be meatloaf, squirt," Hudson said. "If you don't want it, I'll eat it."

"Yeah, there's a reason we call him the living garbage disposal," Frost added.

Sighing, Casey stood up, dumped his food in the trash, and stormed back to his room.

We all gave each other confused glances, wondering what we said that may have upset him. Without a second thought, I got up and headed down to Casey's room. The door was shut, and I could hear him crying. God, my heart was breaking listening to him. "Casey, please, talk to me. What's going on?"

"Drake, let him go."

I turned to see Wierzbowski walking toward me. "W-Why?"

"He'll go to you when he feels like telling you what's wrong. You of all people should know that applying pressure doesn't help sometimes. You might be making it worse by begging him to talk to you." Wierzbowski touched my shoulder. "Not saying it to be mean. I'm being honest because of what I've seen with you."

I sighed, turning away from the door. "I'm trying too fucking hard."

* * *

_Question: What type of parenting style do you think Drake would have with his own kids?_


	7. Chapter 7

A thunderstorm was gradually rolling in after dinner. It was supposed to get bad later that night, but no one really cared because we'd all be sleeping.

I actually joined everyone in the lounge, but I felt awful about Casey. I was beginning to think that every choice I've made since bringing him here was a mistake, but I also reminded myself of why I ended up begging Hicks to let him stay.

Well, let's be real; I'm not all that healthy, mentally. It could be paranoia that made me think I saw some unsavory people in that gymnasium. Maybe leaving Casey in the gym would've made it easier for the authorities to find his parents. I could've prolonged their efforts to reunite Casey with his family.

I left the lounge and walked down to Ranelli's office. It's late, and he's probably ready to turn in, but he does have a pattern of helping me even when he's in his pajamas and slippers. Hell, I caught him just in time tonight; he was going to head down to his apartment, and after I explained that I needed to talk, he allowed me to follow him into the residential complex, which is reserved for a Marine's family.

The apartments have varying sizes depending on how many people you claim on your paperwork are going to stay. Ranelli had one of the smaller ones because it's just him-and a scarlet macaw. The parrot was sitting on a perch next to the window, preening its feathers. There were a lot of houseplants and psychology textbooks on the shelves. Bits of tealeaves covered the kitchen counter. The whole place just smelled welcoming and inviting, even if it was a little quirky.

"Have a seat wherever you like, Drake," Ranelli said. "What's on your mind?"

"I think I made a big mistake taking Casey in until we can find his parents."

"What makes you say that?"

"He . . . He shut down on me when we were at the mall, and I can't convince him to talk to me about what's wrong, even though I've established with him that he can talk to me about anything."

"Didn't Hicks do something similar to you, and you repeatedly shut down on him before actually opening up?"

"Yeah, but-"

"You're in Hicks's position now, and you're also familiar with the act of shutting down and not wanting to talk to anyone for whatever reason. When you feel like . . . not talking to anyone, what prompts you to tell someone what's wrong?"

"Well, first would be the person has to be someone I trust, that way there's some part of my brain that'll wake up and say, 'Hey, this person cares about you, so, you can tell them what's wrong.' Other than that . . . it really depends on what they say to me. I can read people's faces and voices, so I know if they're genuinely concerned or not. Casey doesn't have that-"

"Children have a tendency to see things that some adults can't. You'd be surprised how much Casey might know about you and the rest of their unit just by observing your behavior in the two days he's been here. Don't assume that he doesn't have any sort of ability to read expressions and pick up certain cues in voices. Anyway, you've told me before about your reasoning for taking Casey in. Not only do you have a bond formed by a simple interaction in the Bahamas, but you listened to your gut instinct."

"My gut was wrong. How the fuck am I supposed to know whether someone's a bad person or not? I'm not supposed to just assume shit, right?"

"I have never encountered a scenario where someone's gut instinct was wrong. It's a supremely mysterious instinct that we don't know much about. Personally, I believe it is the sixth sense. It's the sense of needing to survive. It's your subconscious way of knowing whether something or someone is bad and should be avoided. Plus, your gut instinct is likely more developed than anyone else's here because of your experience in prison. You were placed in a situation where you were uncertain whether or not someone would drag you off and beat you to death. Because of that, you subconsciously honed your gut instinct to tell you whether or not you needed to stay away from a specific person or place. It's not paranoia; it's a gift."

I thought about that for a minute, and then sighed. "I guess I still feel overwhelmed about . . . about the fact that responsibility for him lies on my shoulders. I'm not ready for this."

"You'd be hard-pressed to find anyone who feels ready to be a parent, both biologically and adoptively. Even if you are prepared financially, it's the emotional journey that is completely unpredictable."

"Do you have kids?"

"A son and a daughter. Both started living their lives a long time ago."

"So, you're married?"

"I was." Ranelli glanced toward a picture frame on a shelf above the couch. "She died ten years ago, in a car accident."

"Geez. I'm sorry."

He nodded, not saying another word about it. "Like I said before, Drake, you're not wrong for feeling what you did in the gymnasium. You're frustrated about what's going on with your young friend, but you also know what it's like to shut down. Give it time, and be calm and gentle with Casey. Don't demand to know what's going on. Hicks did that with you, and it didn't work. Be patient."

* * *

After a cup of tea, I went down to the living quarters to take a shower and wind down for the night. I could hear people talking and laughing in the lounge down the hall, and a part of me wanted to join them. However, I knew I wasn't in the mood. I wanted to be alone, or with one person.

I went next door to Vasquez's room, finding her freshly showered and putting some of her clean laundry away. "Hey, honey," I said. "Mind if I talk to you for a minute?"

Vasquez glanced at me. "Sure. What do you want?"

"I dunno. I just . . . I want to be alone, but not . . . not completely alone right now."

"This whole crap with Casey bothering you?"

"Yeah."

"That's what you get for thinking you were ready to be a dad."

I sighed. "I never said that. I do care about the kid, but I'm not going to be his dad. I know I'm not ready to . . . to be a father. You're not mad at me, are you?"

"No. I know I'm not ready to be a mother, but . . . I shouldn't be angry toward you or Casey. I should be angry at me."

"Why? You're not ready to be a mom. That's fine right now, because we're not having kids anytime soon. No one's born fully knowing how to be a good parent. You're not Casey's mom. Don't feel obligated to take on that role if you don't feel ready now."

Without looking at me, Vasquez nodded. "Drake, I'm sorry."

"No." I stood up, hugging her. "No, you have nothing to be sorry for, sweetheart." I kissed her. "You will be a good mom someday. I believe you will." I gently rocked her back and forth, hugging her tighter. "I love you."

Turning to face me, Vasquez hugged me as well, putting her head on my chest. A long minute of silence passed by before she whispered, "I love you, too, Drake."

Our little moment was interrupted by a certain somebody yelling from his bedroom, "Were our underclothes washed today? I need new undies, man!"

"Gee, maybe if you actually did laundry 'round here, Hudson, you'd have clean underwear!" Hicks yelled back.

"It's Frost's day, man!"

"You can't pay me enough to touch his fucking dirty underwear!" Frost hollered.

"Somebody's gotta do it!" Hicks replied. "Go check the laundry room."

"Yessir."

I looked down at Vasquez. "Just another regular day."

She sighed. "You know, if we become civilians again, it's going to be really weird not hearing Hudson yelling about something trivial or disgusting every second of the day."

I smirked, and kissed her forehead. "That's what you'll have me for, honey."

* * *

It started raining by the time everyone had to be in their rooms. When I heard the click of the hallway lights being turned off, I put my journal in my nightstand, and settled down to get some sleep. Almost instantly, I heard Hudson start snoring (by the way, he did get some clean underwear-turns out Frost never took the day's batch of undergarments out of the dryer). Sighing, I grabbed a remote from my nightstand, and pressed a button to turn the window fan on to circulate the air-and the noise kinda helps me sleep.

There was thunder in the distance. The rain began coming down harder, and I saw a flash of lightning. Gradually, the rain pelted the roof of the base with more force, and the thunder and lightning got closer. Frankly, it didn't bother me at all.

It must've been midnight when the power went out. I opened my eyes to see the fan had shut off, and I heard some Marine engineers cursing in the massive basement beneath us while trying to turn the backup generators on.

I was half-asleep when I heard someone run-limping down the hall, crying. Then my door slid open, and Casey ran in, half-dragging his injured leg behind him. I sat up as he threw himself on the bed. His face was red, blotchy, and wet. Clear fluid ran from his nose, and he was clearly in distress about something. He held onto me, tightly, sobbing, "Don't go. Don't go. It's here. Don't leave."

That spoke volumes to me. His fear of the storm was beyond that of any other child. He was thinking he was in that hurricane again. God, I know that feeling too well.

"I'm not going anywhere." I hugged him, and propped up my pillows behind me so I could sit upright. "You're OK, sport. No one's gonna leave you behind. That's one of our mottos in the Marines-'never leave a comrade behind.'"

Casey's response was another wet sob. I pulled him closer, and ruffled his hair. When thunder crashed, he hugged me tighter, and I covered his head.

"It's not a hurricane, OK? It's just a regular ol' thunderstorm." I had a feeling he wasn't going to be leaving anytime soon, so I pulled a second blanket from the edge of the bed and covered him with it.

I could feel his little heart beating wildly as he pressed himself harder against me. His crying subsided a little, and a few minutes went by before he looked up at me, eyes red and puffy. "I had a bad dream. I was stuck under the shelf, then I wake up and hear the thunder and I wasn't sure where I was and . . . and . . ." He broke off crying again.

I tousled his hair. "It was only a dream. You're safe here. A fucking earthquake couldn't-nuts, now I gotta go put five dollars in the swear jar."

"Don't care, Drake."

"Fine." I fell silent, hoping Casey would cry himself to sleep so I could carry him back to his room. However, it was difficult to move when I rested my head against the pillow I put behind it, because I was comfortable. I mean, it still wasn't good for my neck, but it'd be comfortable for now.

I ended up falling asleep long before Casey did, and he stayed with me the rest of the night. In the morning, I awoke to hear Hicks banging on everyone's doors. When he got to mine, he said, "Drake, where's Casey?"

I didn't respond right away, so Hicks opened the door. He stopped when he saw Casey sleeping against my chest. "Is everything OK?"

"Yeah," I whispered. "I was gonna put him back, but I fell asleep." I gently shook Casey. "Hey, time to wake up, sport."

Casey rubbed his eyes before sitting up. "What time is it?"

"Time to get dressed and come down for breakfast, son," Hicks said, picking up Casey. "That means you, too, Drake."

It took me five minutes to get some clothes on and head down to the mess hall for breakfast. Much to my surprise, Hicks had taken Hudson's request for biscuits and gravy into consideration-and they were actual biscuits, not whole-wheat dinner rolls.

Hudson had three or four biscuits drenched in thick gravy on his tray, and a big cinnamon roll covered in icing was on a napkin next the tray.

"Where did you get that?" I said.

Hudson pointed to a plate in the center of the table. Holy shit, Hicks actually came through, and got us a real breakfast. Bishop was even coming around to put fried eggs on our trays.

"Did we do something good?" I asked.

"No," Hicks said, "I'm doing something nice for Casey, but, you can have some eggs and bacon and sausage, too."

"You didn't have to do this, Hicks," Casey replied. "I think Hudson's gonna enjoy it more than me-or anybody else here for that matter."

Hicks looked over at Hudson. "Um, you need to slow down over there, buddy. Here, give me that-" Hicks pulled away his tray, and used a spatula to scoop out two of Hudson's biscuits.

"Hey!" Hudson gave Hicks a sad look.

"You're supposed to be keeping fit while you're in here," Hicks said. "How many have you eaten?"

"One-and-a-half, man."

"That's it. Finish up your second, and no more."

For the rest of breakfast, I watched Hudson try to sneak sausages and bacon onto his plate when Hicks wasn't looking. I think he knew I was watching him, and that I didn't care enough to tell Hicks.

After breakfast, I trailed Casey back down to the living quarters. "Why don't you spend some time with people today?" I asked.

Casey turned around to face me, looking unsure. He opened his mouth to say something, and then paused. "Drake? Can I . . . ask you something?"

"Sure. Anything you want." I leaned against the wall with my hands in my pockets.

"Didn't you say that when you got . . . PTSD after something scary, you had bad dreams about it?"

I nodded. "You have to have a few other symptoms before we start worrying about you having PTSD, sport. Which reminds me . . . what was going on yesterday?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"In the mall, when we left the restaurant, you were very quiet. Then you refused to talk to anyone, and you walked out of dinner last night."

Casey looked down at his sneakers, and then back at me. "Got scared, that's all. Thinking 'bout if I'm ever going home or not."

"It's OK to be scared. You know that, right? Being scared isn't an indication of a problem; it's a natural human emotion. You just went through something awful; no one comes out of these things unscathed, mentally or physically. You'll feel a little off, and you'll have bad dreams. For the vast majority of people, those go away after awhile. The dreams and the overall feeling of . . . unease, won't go away if you push everyone out. Trust me, I did that, and it made everything worse. I get it if you feel like no one's gonna understand. Here, in this base, we _all_ understand, and we'll stop whatever we're doing to help you. Don't try to keep it to yourself, it's not going to help."

Casey was quiet for a moment. "You still gonna show me your smartgun?"

"Absolutely." I smiled before leading him down to the armory. "Alright, first off, what's the very first thing to remember when handling any type of firearm?"

"Safety."

"Good. You, of course, are not allowed to touch anything in this room, because almost everything in here is extremely dangerous if you mishandle it. I've been trained, so, I have a pretty good idea of what I'm doing. You're not, so if I catch you touching anything in here, I reserve the right to yell at you. Let's not do that, OK?"

"OK." Casey was looking around, and I could tell he really wanted to touch stuff.

"Before I can get my weapon-" I patted the barrel of my smartgun in its rack, "I have to put my harness on."

"How do you tell yours from Vasquez's?"

"Two things. One, my name is taped on the rack. Two, we've written stuff on our weapons. Mine is really inappropriate, so I'm not going to tell you what it is. Anyway, when you put the harness on, make sure everything is buckled tightly. The last thing you want are things falling off when you're running into the field. Every single clip has to be put together, with no loose pieces."

"Do you like her?"

"Who?"

"Vasquez. You were smiling at her during breakfast."

"That is none of your business. Pay attention to what I'm doing, sport."

"Just saying. Looked like you got a crush on her."

I glared at him. "You haven't even hit puberty yet, so, you don't know anything. _Anyway_, once my harness is on, I can start handling my smartgun. Can you stand behind me, please?"

"Why?"

"It's safer." I took my weapon from its rack. "We keep this room spotless so dust doesn't build up in any little crevice, but stuff happens so it's good to check. Never, ever, ever dry-fire your weapon. There is tech in place that prevents you from doing that, but sometimes, it might fail, so just don't do it."

After making sure my gun was clean and buildup-free, I turned to face Casey. "Every time you have a weapon, and you're not using it, point it at the ceiling. Real easy to do with a smartgun."

"Is it heavy?"

"Of course it's heavy," I snorted. "You exercise a lot before you can even pick up one when you get to your training. Gotta get used to carrying this around for hours on end. You do get used to it, though."

Casey nodded a little. I led him to the other end of the armory, and opened a door to the firing range.

"Welcome to the firing range. Now, you are going to stay behind the thick plastic wall. Do not go past it. It is up for your safety." I unlocked a large cabinet. "This is where we keep ammunition. These are, indeed, real bullets."

"Cool."

I handed Casey a set of earmuffs. "Put these on. When I go behind the glass, stay here and don't touch anything."

"OK."

I finished loading my smartgun, and headed onto the range itself, closing the clear door behind me. I walked over to the far left side to press a button on the wall to drop new targets. Even though no one else was around, I had to call out, "Range is live! Stand clear!" (No, you can't get away with not doing little steps like that. Apone will find out and he will kick your ass into next Wednesday.)

It didn't take me very long to completely decimate each of the individual targets. The range is meant for your average rifles and handguns, not big-ass machine guns. Then again, Vasquez and I weren't told we couldn't use the range if we wanted to, so . . . oh, well.

Casey was smiling the whole way. When I left the range, he took off the earmuffs and yelled, "That was _awesome!_"

I gave him a lopsided grin. "Thanks."

"Can you do it again?"

"Not today, sport. Can't be wasting all the ammo."

"Aww."

* * *

_Question: What do you think would happen if Casey came across Drake's journals?_


	8. Chapter 8

When I left the armory, I felt something prodding me in my brain. I knew what it was, and I was torn over letting it happen, or ignoring it.

I brought Casey down to the lounge before saying, "I gotta use a bathroom. I'll be right back." It wasn't a complete lie, because when I ran to my room, I did lock myself in the bathroom. I sank to the floor, breathing heavily as unexplained panic and hopelessness washed over me like a tidal wave.

Most of my sudden panic attacks have a "reason" tied to them, usually something I'm worried about at the time, whether it be responsibilities or relationships. Doesn't matter. This one had nothing, or at least nothing I could pinpoint. I was stuck in a vortex of anxiety. Everything I could ever possibly be worried about was hitting me at the same time. I covered my face, struggling to breathe. The feeling of having trouble breathing set off more panic, and I felt the bands tightening around my chest.

I sat there for some time, allowing my rootless panic to grip me and give me a horrible sense of impending doom. Eventually, though, it let go, like a bird's talons releasing prey. I took a shaky breath, and looked around. Unlike most of my past panic attacks, no one had come when they heard me cry. They probably weren't close enough to hear me, but usually one person was close enough.

_Maybe they think I'm handling it on my own._ I know that's not true, but that didn't stop a small part of me from thinking it was. At the same time, I was embarrassed to ask anyone if they heard something. I couldn't do it. I just had to put it behind me, and move on with my day.

The aftermath of a panic attack kinda feels like the aftermath of throwing up when you have the flu; you're shivering and you feel weak. It feels like you used your whole body in the process. I went into the lounge, and quickly realized I didn't have to ask if anyone heard anything, because Hudson read my face.

"Drake? You OK, man?"

I nodded, and gestured for Hudson to be quiet in front of Casey.

Hudson is smart enough to know when I need help. He pointed Casey in the direction of the arcade machines, and led me out into the hallway. "You look like you seen a ghost, man."

"Well, I . . . I had another . . . panic attack in the bathroom. I mean, I'm not worried about anything right now, or I can't figure out what I'm worried about. It just . . . Th-There was nothing saying, 'I'm afraid of this, that, and the other thing.' It was just sheer panic and fear and . . . like the building was going to blow up or I was going to suddenly die."

"The monkeys in your brain just started throwing shit all over the enclosure for no reason other than they wanted to throw their shit all over the enclosure."

I laughed a little. "Exactly."

Hudson nodded. "Sometimes, the monkeys get pissed off for no reason."

"I'm trying to control them."

"I know you are. Don't get upset if stuff like this happens and you can't figure out why. It happens. It passes. You go back to your day. Don't dwell on it, man." Hudson patted my shoulder. "Feel better?"

"I . . . guess."

"OK. Look, we can't keep Casey cooped on base, so we gotta put our heads together and think of something we can do with him that isn't gonna bore the crap out of us."

"Aren't some amusement parks opening up today?"

"I can go down to the Metro platform and grab one of those tourist brochures to see."

"If they are, were you gonna invite Miranda to come with us?"

"Well, now, hold on. Are you saying we make this a date and a fun day for Casey?"

I paused. "Sure! Vasquez isn't gonna want to come, though."

"Why not?"

"Because she hates going out and she hates being around Miranda. I'm not even going to ask because I don't want her to feel guilty."

"Vasquez? Feeling guilty?" Hudson snorted. "You're more likely to see the Northern Lights in Florida than Vasquez feeling guilty."

I glared at him. "I know her ten times better than you, dipshit."

"Well, good for you, man. Invite her if you want, or don't if you don't. I really don't care."

"Fine. Go down to the platform, get the brochure, and meet me in the courtyard so we can talk about this with Wierzbowski and Casey."

I saw Casey's blond curls sticking out from the doorway to the lounge. "What're we doing?" he asked.

"Making plans so you're not stuck in the base all day," I said.

"Cool. Where're we going?"

"We don't know yet."

"Is it a fun park?"

"We hope so. Hudson's gonna go get something so we can figure out where we're going, what we're doing. You know, the adult part of vacations."

"Last vacation I was on was the beach I met you at. I'm kinda supposed to be in school at this time, I think."

"Well, guess what, sport? You're not! Besides, you'd rather hang out with us goofs, right?"

"Yeah."

I had a feeling mentioning school just got Casey thinking of when he'd be going home, and we still haven't heard anything. I told myself I was doing the best I can to make him comfortable here.

* * *

The good news is that Hudson found a place for us, and we'd be going tomorrow with Casey and our girlfriends-well, Miranda and Eliza would be going, Vasquez was not. I even asked and she was firm in saying "no," which I had to respect and not pester her about.

While I sat up in bed with my journal, I glanced up to see Casey slowly sliding the door open. When we made eye contact, he slid the door open further. "Drake?"

"What?" I said.

"Can I stay with you for a few minutes? I can't sleep."

I sighed, closing my journal and putting it in my nightstand. "Fine. Come on up."

Casey climbed on the bed, and crawled up to me. "How come you're not asleep?"

"Well, there's ten minutes to lights-out, and I'm not tired enough to just drop off yet." That statement was wrong a second later, when I yawned while rubbing my face.

"You liar. You are tired."

I smirked a little. "Thanks for pointing it out, sport. Why don't you go bother somebody else?"

"You're the only one that's OK with it."

"Now, that's not true. I'm OK with it sometimes, like when you're having bad dreams. That's it."

"So, you want me to leave?"

I gave another sigh. "Not if you don't want to."

Casey put his head on my shoulder. "How come you just walked outta the lounge earlier today?"

"I needed to be alone for a few minutes."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"No. It had nothing to do with you. Sometimes . . . I have moments where I feel very afraid of something, beyond how most people would feel. Most people, when they get anxious, they . . . they can still go about their day, but I can't. I need to go sit somewhere, alone, and panic. I need to do that, or else I start pressing all those emotions downward, and when that happens, it becomes easy for me to become irritated and angry, and I'll snap at people who really don't deserve me being upset with them." _God, that was a terrible explanation._

"So, you just needed to be alone. OK."

"Yeah. I wasn't mad at you or Hudson or anyone. I just . . . needed to panic in peace, because, honestly, having a panic attack in public is embarrassing. It makes me look . . . like I have no control over myself. It's awful."

Casey nodded, as though he understood. I could tell he wasn't sure he wanted to continue that conversation, so he stayed quiet. He kept his head on my shoulder, and eventually, he fell asleep.

I picked him up and carried him to his room. When I put him to bed, I ruffled his hair, and left without a word.

* * *

"Did you let your girlfriends know they should bring extra cash if they want?" I asked, closing my backpack.

"Yeah. I think they already knew, man," Hudson replied. "Hey, where's my cap?"

Wierzbowski flopped the cap on Hudson's head. "Don't leave it on my stuff."

"Sorry, man." Hudson slung his bag over his shoulders. "Alright, so, we're picking the ladies up along the way. We got our money, our passes. I'm ready to ride roller coasters and eat fried hamburgers."

"Can you remember to eat the fried hamburgers _after_ you ride the roller coasters, buddy?" I asked. "We really don't need you puking all over every patron in the fucking park-"

"Five bucks in the swear jar, man."

"Dammit."

"Ten bucks in the swear jar, man!"

"Shut it, Hudson." I fumbled around my pocket for my wallet, and took out ten dollars to put in the jar on Apone's desk. Before we left, I turned into his office to drop off the money.

"You guys make sure there's no trouble, alright?" Apone said, without looking up from a folder of inspection sheets.

"I'm not all that worried about Casey, sir," I replied.

"I wasn't talking about him; I was talking about Hudson."

"Oh." I grinned. "Yeah, we'll keep an eye on him."

"You better. I don't need to hear that he had a couple beers too many and was spotted climbing on top of the fucking Ferris wheel."

"Has that actually happened?"

"No, and we don't want it to. Go have fun, boys."

I followed Hudson, Wierzbowski, and Casey down to the Metro stop, where I grabbed a coffee from a nearby shop, just in time for our train to arrive.

I think the commuters were a bit confused at seeing three Marines and a young boy together, but they didn't pay that much attention to us for me to get concerned they were getting the absolute wrong idea.

We picked up Miranda first, then Eliza. I noticed Casey looked a little intimidated at the sudden addition of two people to our group. He stayed on my lap, only giving a shy wave when Miranda and Eliza said "hello" and gushed over how cute he was. I looked at him while the guys and their girlfriends chatted, and whispered, "They're nice people, sport. Nothing to be afraid of."

Casey nodded, but continued to say nothing.

When we got to the amusement park itself, I could tell the ticket vendor was bored out of his skull, and had probably seen a lot of shit since getting in his booth this morning. Hudson made sure that this was a place that we could all have some degree of fun at, and Casey's at that age where he doesn't want to be in the kiddie area. Of course, we all got a discount because we're active-duty Marines, and Hudson's eyes lit up when the three of us got tickets for free food and drinks.

I wanted to tell the vendor that it wasn't a good idea to even say the words "ticket for free food and drinks" around Hudson, but I kept my mouth shut.

My optimism was quickly smashed to bits when we walked through the gates, and I saw a photo booth. If Vasquez had come, we could've gotten pictures together. But, she didn't come, and so we couldn't get pictures together. I tried not to look like I just got punched in the stomach, but it was hard not to show my disappointment over a massive missed opportunity to have something small we might never get again until we get our discharge.

Wierzbowski put his hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright? You look upset."

"I-I'm fine," I said. "Just . . . l-let's keep walking."

I wasn't wrong when I told Apone we didn't have to worry about Casey, but we did have to worry about Hudson. Miranda knows when to keep him in line and when to just let him go, and I prayed that she actually tried to manage him instead of spoiling him. I breathed a sigh of relief when she pulled him away from the candied apple stand.

"Not yet, sweetie," she said, petting his head. "It's kinda early."

Behind them, Wierzbowski and Eliza were holding hands and talking quietly to each other. I had a feeling Wierzbowski was trying to be more affectionate and break through his typical shyness, but he couldn't bring himself to do so in a place with so many people watching.

I sighed. "Alright, Casey, you're in charge. Whaddaya want to do first?"

"Can we go on the Screaming Falcon?" Casey asked. "Looks cool."

I know roller coasters are nothing compared to a dropship, so I didn't think twice before giving up a ticket and sitting next to Casey in one of the cars. Hudson got in the one behind us, and waved to Miranda, and Wierzbowski and Eliza, as the bird-shaped train pulled away from the platform.

"Wait, does this thing go upside-down?!" I asked, upon seeing some twisted spots on the track. I don't do upside-down. Since we were still going slowly up a hill, I took off my cap and jammed it in my pants pocket. _Shit, shit, shit . . ._

The train continued to crawl upwards, and I looked at Casey, whose smile got bigger as we got closer to the top.

"You're the best, Drake!" Casey said when the train stopped at the top of the hill. It allowed a moment where you could see the entire park, plus some skyscrapers in the distance.

And then it shoots you down to the rest of the track.

Hudson was screaming behind me, and I was trying not to scream myself, but there were a couple times where it felt like I was going to fly out of the car to my death, and . . . alright, I screamed. It was embarrassing because I'm a grown man who's done combat drops that are a thousand times rougher than this. Just, let's move on.

The train slowed down and stopped in front of the platform. I took my rumpled cap out of my pocket and put it on my head before getting out. "That was kinda rough," I mumbled.

"You screamed, man!" Hudson laughed. "You screamed like a little girl!"

"Piss off."

"Five bucks in the swear jar, man!"

* * *

We went on two more roller coasters in a period of well over an hour. Most of that time was spent waiting in line, or waiting for Hudson to get out of the restroom because Miranda let him get this giant cup of fruit punch.

It was a lot of time doing nothing, standing in the heat and feeling sweat run in places you really don't want to feel sweat running. The nothingness just gave my brain too much time to wander in its own direction and I didn't like it. I couldn't let it go in its own direction, because all its fucking roads lead to my Goddamn PTSD.

I don't think I had water since leaving base. I began thinking about water and the dry feeling in my throat and the lightheadedness . . .

My legs were shaking when my vision suddenly blurred. I collapsed, and Wierzbowski and Eliza both knelt by me.

"Drake? Are you OK, honey?" Eliza helped me sit up.

"I think he's dehydrated," Wierzbowski said. "I haven't seen him take in a drop of fluid since we got here."

"I'll go grab a water bottle, man." Hudson dashed off.

"We should get him in the shade," Miranda said.

"Right." Wierzbowski lifted me up. "Just tell me where, and I'll set him down."

"In one of the pavilions," Eliza replied. "Miranda, make sure Hudson knows where we are."

Miranda ran off to look for Hudson, while Wierzbowski carried me into one of the massive lunch pavilions.

"Easy, easy," Eliza whispered while Wierzbowski had me sit at one of the tables. "Drake, you poor thing."

"He's a real trooper, love," Wierzbowski said, smirking. "He'll be alright."

"I know, but he could've said something. No one would've gotten mad if he asked for water."

Hudson and Miranda came running in with a bottle of water. "Ta-da! Fresh water for you, man." Hudson unscrewed the cap, and thrust it in my hands. "Drink up, man."

I drank until some of it accidentally went down the wrong pipe, and started coughing. I put the bottle down and took a few deep breaths, comprehending where I was and what just happened.

"Good to see you back with us, Drake," Wierzbowski said.

"I didn't think I was gone that long," I sighed. "I'm sorry we didn't get on that coaster, Casey-" I stopped, looking around. "Where's Casey?"

Wierzbowski glanced at Eliza. "You didn't make sure the kid was with us?"

"I thought he was already following us," Eliza replied.

I glared at both of them. "Seriously? You both fucking forgot Casey?"

"Drake, don't be getting upset with us," Wierzbowski said, firmly.

"I have every right to be upset. You forgot him?!" I stood up. "God, you two shouldn't ever be parents if you're gonna forget your children!"

"That was a little too far, man," Hudson muttered through his teeth.

"Mark, it was one mistake," Miranda added. "Apologize."

"No. You fucking lost Casey." I flipped off Wierzbowski before turning around. "Just . . . fuck you guys, I'm gonna go find him, considering _I'm_ the only person around here who remembers he's with us!"

Wierzbowski sighed as I left. "I really should've beat him into the concrete, but . . . I can't. I-It is my fault. I should've remembered the kid."

"Don't say that, 'Ski. Just don't," Eliza replied.

* * *

I pushed through the crowds to get back to the roller coaster we had been waiting at when I felt dizzy. Much to my luck, Casey wasn't there.

_OK, either he wandered off looking for us, or somebody took him. No, there's no way somebody took him. He'd be screaming and the whole park would know about it. He wandered off. Yeah, that's it. He wandered off. Nothing to worry about too much. _My thoughts were racing as I searched the surrounding area. He's on crutches, so there's no way he had gotten too far away.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him sitting on a bench near the restrooms, but my happiness quickly faded when I got closer and saw the distant look on his face. A distant look I was too familiar with myself.

* * *

_Question: Should Drake explain to Vasquez how her sitting out of gatherings makes him feel, or should he keep letting her say "no?"_

_Author's Note: I think the only people who wouldn't be remotely phased by roller coasters are Spunkmeyer and Ferro. They spent months in simulators and trained themselves to get used to the feeling of a dropship's movement. It'd be difficult to get a reaction out of them. And Hicks would just fall asleep with even less of a reaction than the dropship pilots. At least they wouldn't chicken out of anything._


	9. Chapter 9

I'm not going to go into elaborate detail with what I saw in Casey's eyes; he thought we abandoned him, like he thought his parents did in the hurricane. He was reliving that, mentally.

He kinda snapped out of it when I got closer, but I could tell he was afraid. However, I also could tell he thought of me as a hero. _His_ hero. I rescued him, so every time I'm around, he feels safe. A part of me took that to heart. _This kid thinks I'm a hero of some kind. That means something. _But, another part of me was afraid of him becoming dependent on me, that when we did track down his parents, he wasn't ever gonna want to leave me.

My heart was breaking, like a chunk of ice being thrown against the sidewalk. Sitting next to Casey, I tried to find the right words to say, but couldn't.

"You said you wasn't gonna leave any of your own behind," Casey said, his voice cracking a little.

"It was an accident. I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry. Lotta people've said 'sorry' to me, and they don't mean it. No one means anything they say to me, like I'm stupid or something."

I knew how he felt, but I didn't know how to communicate that. "If I wasn't the one who passed out, I wouldn't have left you behind. The others don't mean you any harm; they're just not used to having you around. I know it feels like a lot longer, but you've only been with us for about three days. It'll take them a couple more days to get used to you, and especially get used to not swearing around you. Taking care of lost kids isn't exactly in our job description, sport."

Casey nodded a little.

"I really hope something like this never happens to you again." I took a breath. "If it does, I . . . I'll try to be there for you."

"How'd that work?"

"I don't know. Just don't get your hopes up. My unit being sent to your area after the hurricane was by chance."

"Lucky chance."

"Yeah, but still chance."

"You don't think it means anything?"

"I have no idea."

Casey kicked his good leg against the bench, and quickly lifted it back up. "Stupid bench is hot."

Sighing, I picked him up and put him on my lap. "There. Is that better?"

He nodded before putting his arms around my neck.

"Alright. Come on, let's go back to the others. Oh, and do me a favor? I kinda got mad at them for forgetting you, so, if they're upset with me, don't say anything."

I carried Casey back to the pavilion, where the guys and their girlfriends had already ordered lunch. They all looked at me, and I could tell they hadn't forgotten my outburst.

"I found him. He's OK. I'm sorry for getting pissy. Let's just all sit down and enjoy-" I sat at the table, but Wierzbowski pulled a dish away from me.

"Drake, I oughta punch you in the mouth for what you said, because you not only insulted me, you also insulted _her_." Wierzbowski pointed to Eliza.

I gulped, not wanting to get punched by Wierzbowski. He might unintentionally kill me. "I did say 'sorry.'"

"Yeah, he did have the gall to apologize, so, accept it and move on," Eliza said, touching Wierzbowski's arm.

"Fine."

It's pretty unusual to see Wierzbowski in a foul mood, so I guess what I said was a lot more hurtful than I thought.

Actually, I'm not sure what was more unusual; Wierzbowski being upset, or seeing Hudson using a fork and knife while eating pork brisket.

* * *

After lunch, Eliza and Wierzbowski went off to just take a walk. I imagine that they were probably talking about me and what a crappy person I am.

"You doing OK, Drake?" Hudson asked.

"I . . . screwed up real bad today," I sighed. (I was gonna say "fucked up, but I didn't.)

"Just a misunderstanding, man," Hudson said. "Hey, how 'bout we go up to the bar and get a drink?"

"Are you gonna behave?" Miranda asked.

"Yeah, we will, pumpkin." Hudson kissed her. "Watch the kid for us. Wouldn't wanna forget him again." He winked at me, then patted my shoulder as I stood up.

We walked up to where they were serving the alcoholic beverages, and after showing our I.D.s, we got to drinking. Hudson was a bit more in control because he had a full stomach. On the other hand, I had barely eaten anything (of course not), so I was gonna get tipsy before he did.

"I'm not going on anymore fucking roller coasters today," I mumbled. "I cannot stand being upside-down. Just can't, dude."

Hudson laughed and snorted. "That's why you screamed like a little girl, man!"

"Yeah, I did scream like a little girl." I downed the last of my drink before pushing it toward the bartender for a refill. "No more upside-down for me. Do I look like I'm supposed to be upside-down?"

"Naw, you're obviously right-side-up, man." Hudson tilted his head to check, though, and then let out a particularly loud belch. "Holy crap, man, I don't remember eating that!"

"I don't even remember what you ate!" I slurred. "Hang on, h-hang on . . . w-what was it you said about me being right-side-up?"

"Uhh . . ."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious! Of course I'm supposed to be right-side-up. Like-Like one of those boxes you see . . . you know, the ones with, um . . . with, um . . . like, 'this end up' on 'em." I spotted an old mug with markers, and grabbed one before taking off my cap. I wrote on the front of it, "This End Up"-in permanent marker. "Now nobody can put me upside-down again."

"Clever, man."

I put the cap back on my head, and tossed the marker back in the mug. With that, I bust out laughing, and Hudson was eventually laughing, too, but I don't think either of us knew why. I was laughing so hard, my face was red and tears were streaming down my cheeks. Hudson fell out of his seat, and that just made me laugh harder.

"He fell outta his chair," I giggled. "He fell outta his chair." I lowered myself to lay on the floor next to him, slurring, "Are you OK?"

"Yeah. You?"

"I'm awesome. I could use a hug right now, though." I hiccupped.

"I could use a nap, man."

"Why not _both?_"

Hudson got to his feet, unsteadily, and then pulled me up. "_You_ definitely need a nap, man. I mean-" he squeezed my face, "look at these awful fucking dark circles under your eyes, man! You don't look so good. I think you're sick, man."

"I _feel_ sick, dude!" I think that was when I threw up all over the front of his shirt-in front of the whole pavilion. And in front of Casey.

* * *

Wierzbowski dragged the two of us out of the pavilion, and out of the park altogether. Miranda was mad at Hudson for not moderating himself, and she told me my drunken display was just as bad. Eliza told us both how embarrassing we were, and Wierzbowski dropped us both on the sidewalk far away from the park entrance to yell at us, but mainly me. He was beyond pissed, and I think a lot of it was bottled up anger at me for what I said right before I went looking for Casey.

I don't remember his whole rant, but I do remember this, "You said you care so much about the kid, why'd you go and drink yourself into a sloppy mess?! I certainly don't think _YOU_ should ever be a parent if you're gonna do _that_ in front of your kid!" Wierzbowski lifted me off the ground, and I saw a glint of hostility in his dark-blue eyes. "I'm sick of your crap, Drake. I do a lot for you, and what do I get in return? You telling me that I'm a terrible person. All the Goddamn time, it's you telling me everything that's wrong with me, and I'm tired of it! Am I good for anything, Drake? _Anything at all?!_" He shook me hard, and then dropped me on the ground. "I'm not going back to fucking base with you. I don't even want to look at you right now."

Eliza didn't say a word to us as the two of them walked away. She glanced back at us once, and kept following Wierzbowski.

I think Miranda was a little upset she had to deal with me and Hudson by herself all the way back to base. Not only that, I sensed that Casey was not only embarrassed, but lonely. And it's my fault.

No one said a word until we returned to base and Hicks saw the large vomit stain on Hudson's shirt. He also saw the redness of our faces and the glassiness of our eyes. "Alright," he sighed, "did Hudson puke on himself, or did Drake do this?"

I raised my hand. "I did it."

"And are you proud of yourself?"

"I don't know."

Hicks folded his arms over his chest. "You guys know what this means, right? No leaving base for three days. Not without somebody _responsible_ with you. Speaking of responsible, where's Wierzbowski?"

"I think he went home with Eliza," Miranda said. "He was . . . really upset with what happened at the park-"

"Are you talking about dumbass one and dumbass two getting drunk, or is there something else I gotta know about?"

"Well, I don't know how else to explain it, but Mark almost passed out from dehydration, so Trevor and Eliza helped him get to one of the pavilions while I went with Will to get some water. We accidentally left Casey behind, and . . . Mark wasn't happy about that, so he yelled at everyone and told Trevor and Eliza that they shouldn't ever be parents if they're gonna forget their kids and then Trevor was fuming over this while Mark went to find Casey and it just . . . it blew up."

"'Ski's gotta get laid, man," Hudson slurred.

Hicks glared at him. "You know, I expected better behavior from you two around our guest. I can't even begin to describe how disappointed I am right now. If you weren't drunk with volatile stomachs, I'd make you work out and then clean the whole gym for the rest of the day."

"Think your bipolar's acting up again, man."

Hicks didn't take kindly to that. At all. He gestured for Casey to go inside. "Hudson, if my fucking bipolar was acting up, I would've flung you across the parking lot here, and beat the shit outta you. I wouldn't even be talking to you right now; I woulda tossed you inside, given you buckets of bleach, and told you to scrub the fucking gym with your Goddamn toothbrush. When you sober up, you're gonna be extremely grateful that my bipolar isn't acting up right now, because you'd be in a world of hurt so bad that General Russell would throw me outta the Corps faster than Drake can hurl on you." His gray-green eyes were boring into Hudson's soul. "Both of you, get inside. Now."

* * *

Needless to say, the rest of the day was uneventful. I didn't feel good, so I spent the rest of the day sleeping.

We didn't see Wierzbowski until later the next morning. As I figured, he was still pissed, but he seemed less angry than yesterday. I hoped that meant Eliza talked to him about what happened, and maybe we'd be able to make amends.

It was still evident he didn't want to talk to either me or Hudson. In fact, I heard him talking to Hicks out in the courtyard sometime before lunch. I didn't catch the whole conversation, though.

"I know you didn't mean everything you said to Drake. Something like this isn't gonna damage your relationship for good," Hicks was saying.

"I shouldn't have told him that he doesn't think I'm good for anything, though," Wierzbowski replied. "That wasn't necessary."

"Was it? Maybe you needed to say it to stand up for yourself-"

"Not you, too. No. No, that's what I got mad at Drake for. You people are always telling me what's wrong with me. You never-"

"Wierzbowski, that's not true."

"No, it is true! _You're doing it right now!_"

Silence fell over the hallway. I heard Hicks sigh.

"You want me to stand up for myself? Fine, I will. Just leave me alone, and stop telling me everything I do is wrong. I try, and yet I'm not good enough for you. What the hell do I have to do to finally get approval from anyone? When the hell are you going to stop saying, 'You need to do this and that, 'Ski, or else you'll look like a pushover. Don't do that, 'Ski, because it's not good for your mental health to keep doing that.' _All fucking day_, that's what I get from you, and Drake, and Hudson."

Hicks didn't respond. I think he figured it was necessary for Wierzbowski to finally vent his frustrations with everyone rather than bottle it up.

And speaking of frustrations, I had no idea what I was going to do with Casey. I knew I had damaged his image of me by being a moron at the amusement park. God only knew if he was going to forgive me. He'd already been really upset about people lying to him; did I lie to him by saying I'd try to always be there for him, and then got drunk and embarrassed myself in front of him?

Casey had left his door open for some reason, and I could see him sitting on the floor with his little plastic Marines. Somehow, I couldn't bring myself to talk to him. I felt awful.

Usually, I'd go to Wierzbowski to talk, but he was in no mood to even look at me. Hudson didn't seem to want to talk to me, either.

I went to the pool room to find Spunkmeyer vacuuming. He'd set a radio near the speaker system in a small office next to the main doors, and was listening to music as he worked, slowly moving the large vacuum back and forth along the bottom of the pool.

Unlike everyone else, Spunkmeyer smiled when he saw me. "Hey, Drake. Anything I can do for yous?"

"Offer a listening ear. That's all," I said.

"Sure."

I explained, to the best of my ability, what happened yesterday at the park, and how Wierzbowski was coming close to unleashing a torrent of rage, and how I didn't know how to apologize to Casey.

Spunkmeyer kept switching his gaze between me and the vacuum, and when I finished, he settled his gaze on me. "This's got you stuck and really upset, huh."

I nodded. "Wierzbowski probably needs to get mad at everyone. It's . . . It's Casey I'm worried about. He's not gonna look at me the same way."

Spunkmeyer snorted. "Just be glad you didn't slur something about how you were in prison. That'd be a much bigger pile of shit to crawl through."

"How am I supposed to tell him this was just a big, stupid mistake? He was already mad that we kind of abandoned him, like his parents did during the hurricane. I know how he feels, but . . . it . . ."

"That's just it; you know exactly how he feels. I know you ain't gonna like this, but I think you're gonna have to dig into your past a little and explain to him that you know how he feels. Describe to him what things were like when you started realizing that you weren't handling the aftermath of the silver flower very well."

"That's really different, though."

"Yeah, but-hey, I don't wanna assume anything-do you think he's handling the aftermath of the hurricane well?"

"I don't think we can answer that because he's not exactly out of the woods yet. We still haven't found his parents."

Spunkmeyer thought for a moment. "Still, I think you need to explain that you do understand, and I know that requires digging into parts of your brain you don't want to go into, but do you think you can do it for the kid?"

I sighed. "I'll give it a shot. Thanks, Spunkmeyer."

"No problem. Hey, one more thing . . . I . . . W-When do you think . . . you know, you were gonna show me how to make a good impression on a date."

"This is something I gotta talk to Vasquez about, because she doesn't like going out anymore."

"Are you having issues?"

"I don't think so, but, let me talk to her, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can about taking you and Ferro somewhere so you can talk and observe how veterans like me and Vasquez are on a date. I mean, you and Ferro have known each other for about four years, so don't act like this is a first date. You are way past the small talk, dude." I stood up. "Yeah. I'll go talk to Vasquez right now, actually."

"Thanks, Drake."

I sighed as I left the pool room. _At least someone appreciates me today._

* * *

Vasquez was in the gym when I peered in. After glancing around to make sure we were alone, I said, "Hey, honey."

"What, Drake?" Vasquez replied. "I heard about you did yesterday, you ding-dong. First you piss off Wierzbowski, and then you get drunk and . . ." She paused, looking at my cap. "What's 'This End Up' supposed to mean?"

I took off my cap, and looked at the words I'd written on it (in permanent marker, of course). "Oh, that's supposed to mean, 'never, ever put me upside-down.'"

Vasquez gave me a confused look.

"I hate being upside-down." I blushed.

"I've known you for over four years, and you never told me this?"

"Didn't think it was anything important. Just a really dumb phobia I have." I grinned. "You know now. That's important, right?"

Vasquez folded her arms over her chest. "Fine. Did you come here to act cute or do you have something to talk about?"

"Yeah. Ferro and Spunkmeyer want to start dating, and I was thinking . . . we do a double-date to show them how it's done."

Vasquez sighed, closing her eyes as she thought. "Just you and me, and Ferro and Spunkmeyer?"

"Just you and me, and Ferro and Spunkmeyer. No Hudson, no Miranda. I promise."

"If you're dead-serious that it's just going to be us, plus Ferro and Spunkmeyer, then fine, I'll go." She hopped up on the pull-bar.

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure no one had somehow stealthily entered the gym. "One more thing I wanna talk about, sweetheart."

"What?"

"Yesterday . . . at the park . . . right past the main gate, they had a photo booth set up, and . . . I-I know that in the past, we've talked about how much we wish we had pictures, and it . . . it kinda hurt that you didn't come with us, because we would've had that opportunity to have pictures taken and no one would know about them and we'd be able to hang onto them without getting caught. You know, maybe if you were there, all the shit that happened . . . probably wouldn't have happened." I shrugged. "I mean, part of me thinks there's more to this than just you not liking how Hudson and Miranda behave in public."

"There are times where I think too much about the stupid party I went to, the one that ultimately got me in prison. That's why I don't like going out often, or being pressured into going somewhere."

"Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I was under the impression you felt I had gotten over that."

I smiled, albeit sadly. "I've never felt that way. Come on, you know you shouldn't . . . hide stuff like that from me. It doesn't feel good, and it doesn't solve anything."

Vasquez nodded a little. "I guess it's a bad habit."

"And that's OK. We'll work together to break it, alright?" I opened my arms. "Come on down and give me a hug, honey."

Vasquez dropped down from the bar, and put her arms around me while sighing. "You're probably right, Drake, I'm not putting a lot of effort into this relationship."

"Uh-oh, did you take what I said seriously?" I kissed her forehead. "I said that as a joke, baby. I know you're working just as hard as me in this relationship, or else we wouldn't be where we are now." I hugged her tightly, resting my head on top of hers. "I love you."

There was silence for a few moments, and then Vasquez whispered, "You know, I saw that puke stain on Hudson's shirt. You got him pretty good."

"That's not something to be proud of, is it?"

"No, but, still. Usually Hudson is the one puking everywhere when he's drunk."

"Look, the garbage can was right behind me, but I don't think it could wait a half-second more, so, Hudson's shirt was the way to go. Did the shirt have to be burned?"

"Hicks has said that we're going to try and not burn any clothing unless something really bad is going around, but he's not happy about having to buy more of the powerful stain remover detergents."

"So, you're telling me that my vomit chunks were in the fucking wash with the rest of the clothes?"

"Spunkmeyer was doing the laundry; ask him."

"Aww, come on, he's the worst at doing the laundry. Not as bad as Hudson, but still bad. He never puts the fabric softener in."

"And Hudson doesn't even bother with detergent. That's why everything smells like body odor and hot water when he's done with it."

I rubbed my face, laughing. "Alright, so . . . I can go tell Ferro and Spunkmeyer we'll go out someplace in a few days, after my punishment ends?"

"Go ahead, do whatever you want, Drake."

I grinned, moving in for a kiss, but Vasquez grabbed my face to kiss me herself. She reached behind my neck to put her hands in my shirt to feel my back. I purred while nuzzling her face, but suddenly stopped when one of the doors swung open, and a Spunkmeyer stinking of chlorine walked in, bare-chested.

"Has anyone seen my clothes?" he asked. "I swear, I left my clothes in the men's locker room. They're gone. Can't find 'em."

"You're asking the wrong people," I said. "You think _we_ want to see you walking around in just your swim trunks? God, no! You're . . . You are not exactly sexy, Spunkmeyer."

"You're not exactly helpful, Drake." Spunkmeyer looked at Vasquez. "What do you think?"

"About whether or not you're sexy or where your fucking clothes are?" Vasquez replied.

"I don't care."

"Well, you're not sexy. Only Ferro could ever love your face. And . . . no, I don't know where your clothes are. Go ask dumbass."

"You mean Hudson? Yeah, I should go ask the stupid fuck. Bet he took my clothes." Spunkmeyer left the gym, and two seconds later, we heard Hicks yelling.

"_Hey, just what the FUCK do you think you're doing walking around outta regs?! Get back in that locker room, right now!_"

"Hicks, somebody took my clothes. I think it was Hudson."

"Wasn't me, man!" Hudson called from down the hall.

"You're getting on my last nerve, Hudson!" Hicks shouted.

"Hey, I've been a good boy all day, man. Gimme some kind of credit."

"I'll give you credit when you don't come home from a fucking outing slobbering drunk."

* * *

_Question: What do you think the consequences will be of Wierzbowski getting immensely frustrated with everyone?_


	10. Chapter 10

Needless to say, Spunkmeyer did find his clothes hanging from an extremely dusty ceiling fan in the locker room, and it was actually Frost who put them there, not Hudson. Hudson demanded an apology from Hicks, but Hicks was in no mood for anyone's bullshit.

However, Hicks's rage faded later that evening, when he decided to talk to Casey.

"Am I in trouble?" Casey asked when Hicks wanted to see him in his room.

"No," Hicks replied. "Have a seat on the bed. I wanna talk to you."

"Still think I'm in trouble."

"You're not in trouble. I'm the squad corporal, and I say you're not in trouble, OK? Hey, look at me-" Hicks gently took Casey's chin, mouthing, "_You're not in trouble._"

Casey nodded. "Is it something Drake did?"

"Kinda. I heard a couple things that had me . . . concerned-"

"How he and Hudson had that alcohol stuff?"

"Yeah. And, I was told that . . . you felt like you had been abandoned."

"I said that to Drake. Then he went and got himself all weird and got sick on Hudson and then we didn't do nothing else the whole day 'cause of that." Tears began streaming down Casey's face. "He said we'd have fun yesterday, and he lied to me. Right after telling me he'd never lie to me, and that he'd always be there for me. I trusted him, Hicks-" Casey began pounding the bed with his fist. "I trusted him! I trusted him, and he went and broke that! I ain't ever trusting anybody again! Why does everybody gotta lie to me-"

"Hey, hey, hey!" Hicks took Casey's arm. "Relax. Just . . . calm down, OK? This isn't the end, alright? Look, what happened yesterday was a mistake. Drake should've been more responsible, and he wasn't. It happens to everyone. Drake did not intend to end the day early. Stuff happens. That doesn't mean there won't be other chances for you to go do things."

Casey kept crying, though, prompting Hicks to take him on his lap, and hug him.

"You and Drake need to talk to each other, OK?" Hicks whispered. "Only way you're gonna fix this is by talking."

I have to say that I am proud of Casey for being the one to initiate the conversation when he worked up the courage to talk to me. Of course, it was late at night, right before lights-out. Casey entered my room, without knocking, and got on the bed, crawling up to me. "Drake, we gotta talk," he said, getting on my lap.

I was already laying down, not sitting up, so Casey was basically on top of me, and I felt a sharp pain in my lower abdomen. I grunted before saying, "Your knee's right in my bladder, sport."

Casey folded his arms before resting his head on my chest. "Drake, I trusted you."

"Yeah, and?"

"You broke it. How come you went and got goofed up when we were supposed to go do more roller coasters and stuff?"

"Well, like I said a couple days ago, you are not ready for alcohol, so you don't understand it, alright? Second . . ." I kinda had to think fast, because I wasn't going into the details of drinking with him, "I have a confession to make. I don't know if you figured this out, but . . . I hate being upside-down. But, I didn't want you to be disappointed that I wasn't, you know, going on the roller coasters with you, so I needed a way to . . . get out of it."

Casey thought about that for a minute. "If you said something, I wouldn't be disappointed. Dude, I understand not liking heights, but upside-down? That's kinda weird."

"I know, but that's just how I am. So . . . are we good? Are we still friends? You made me nervous that you were really mad at me, or you thought I abandoned you."

"You ain't gonna do it again, right?"

"Cross my heart."

Casey drew the imaginary "X" over my heart. For a moment, I thought this meant I didn't have to worry about him potentially developing PTSD, but then we both glanced toward the window when rain began pattering against the base and lightning lit up the room for half-a-second. "You gonna go to bed now?" I asked.

After a second of thinking, Casey grabbed one of the blankets on the edge of my bed. "No, I'm staying here."

I sighed. "Fine, but stay on that side of the bed. You kick me, I'm making you sleep on the floor."

"Got it, Drake."

In the morning, I awoke to find Casey's arm draped over me, with his hand close to my mouth. I carefully sat up, and moved Casey over. When I heard Hicks going around to wake people up, I gently shook Casey. "Time to get up, sport," I said, stretching.

Sitting up, Casey rubbed his eyes before saying, "You snored a lot. I had to shut your mouth a couple times."

"If you think I'm bad, you should be in Hudson's room. I wouldn't advise that at night, though."

"Why?"

"Because his farts can probably kill every plant in a large greenhouse."

Of course Casey laughed at that. Kids love fart jokes, for some reason.

At least things between me and Casey were OK. With Wierzbowski, it was a different story. His sourness and sheer bitterness toward everyone radiated off him like heat from a fever.

"Got some news for Casey," Hicks said. "Our C.O. found someone to work on finding your parents, but he's already got another case on his hands. He said the soonest he'd be able to work on your case is a week."

Casey looked at his tray before looking at Hicks.

"I know that's probably not what you wanted to hear, but it's something. You're in a safe environment right now and they tend to work with kids who might be at risk first."

_Every kid who'd gotten separated from their parents was at risk of harm in that fucking gym,_ I thought. _I hope those creeps I saw didn't get any of them._

Hicks glanced at the rest of us. "Alright, in other news, today is PT day. I want everyone outside in the yard by oh-nine-thirty, in your exercise clothes."

Spunkmeyer sighed. "Are we actually gonna do something, or is it just gonna be, 'Twenty fucking jumping-jacks, ladies!'"

Hicks was silent for a minute. "Number one, five bucks in the swear jar, and number two, what would you rather do, Spunkmeyer?"

"Can we do 'recover-the-corpse?'" I asked. (It's basically capture-the-flag, but with someone standing in as a dead body you have to recover from behind enemy lines.)

"As long as I don't have to be the corpse again," Spunkmeyer said. "I'm tired of doing it just because I'm the lightest. Makes it way too easy for 'Ski."

Wierzbowski glared at Spunkmeyer. "Do you think everything involving PT is easy for me? Is that what you think?"

"No . . ." Spunkmeyer gave him a confused look. "What's up with you?"

It was only quiet for about five seconds, but, God, was that silence extraordinarily painful.

Wierzbowski put his fork down, and looked Spunkmeyer in the eye. "Frankly, I'm just about done with your sarcasm, your complaining, and your whining-"

"I think you're talking about Hudson-"

"I'm done with his shit, too! Every last one of you! I can't take it anymore!"

Hicks took a breath.

"You people don't value anything about each other! Y-You just point out what's wrong with the person sitting next to you and you don't appreciate anything they do for you!"

Hicks rubbed his face. "Alright, that's enough, Wierzbowski. Sit down, shut up, make sure you put five dollars in the swear jar after breakfast."

Casey followed me back to my room after breakfast. "Drake, Drake, can I do PT with you guys?"

"No," I said.

"Why not?"

"You have a broken leg, for God's sake!"

"I'll be careful, Drake, please!"

"You can watch."

"I'll give you a quarter."

I looked at him while my toothbrush was in my mouth. "What's a quarter gonna get me, sport? My paycheck is a whole lot more than a quarter." _Although it feels like a quarter sometimes._

"I'll make your bed."

"You don't even make your own bed."

"You're hard to bribe, ain't ya."

"Sure am." I spit in the sink, and opened the medicine cabinet to grab the shaving cream.

"Dude, I never seen a thing of antacids that big before."

"I have to be prepared for whatever Bishop puts in front of me at dinner."

"I don't think the food here's that bad. Better than the school lunches. I mean, I bring a lunch from home, but I seen what they serve the other kids. Looks like cow poop sometimes." Casey watched me cover the lower half of my face with shaving cream. "When did you start shaving?"

"Fourteen," I said.

"When should I start shaving?" Casey touched his face.

"When you grow some hair." I glanced at him. "Don't you dare hit puberty while you're here. I'm not giving you that talk."

"What talk?"

"Um . . . the puberty talk. You're only supposed to get that when you hit puberty."

"Some of the kids in my class already started."

"Good for them."

"They said they's started growing hair in their-"

"I said, good for them! No more!"

"-armpits."

I sighed, and just wanted peace and quiet as I finished my shave. It was quiet for a minute or two, and I sensed Casey was observing.

I knew I was going to have to teach my kid how to shave someday. Before I wiped the excess cream off my face, I gestured for Casey to step in front of the mirror. "Alright, I know you're not ready yet, but I'll show you the basics," I said. "Step one, make sure your face is wet. Always use warm water. I had only cold water in boot camp and that's as uncomfortable as having your skivvies riding up your rear end and you can't do anything about it. Warm water's just better, OK? Step two, make sure the brush-the thing you put the cream on-is nice and wet, too. Warm water. Always warm water. Then, put a little bit of the cream on. Not too much or you look like you're getting ready for Santa-Con, and it makes it difficult to see what you're doing-"

"I thought you just sprayed the cream all over your face."

"No." I smirked. "Right, after you get the cream on, you take the razor, make sure it's clean, run it under warm water, and then you shave. Typically start on your cheek, doesn't matter which side, but you tend to start on the non-dominant side of your face-"

"What's that mean?"

"I'm left-handed, so I start on my right cheek. Just a weird thing people do. You can start on the left side if you're left-handed. Doesn't matter at all. You will nick yourself in the beginning. Heck, I still nick myself sometimes, but expect it in the beginning. It hurts, but you'll either get used to it, or learn how to nick yourself less often."

Casey pretended to run an imaginary razor along his face. "It's that simple?"

"Not . . . necessarily. You gotta make sure you do a thorough job, especially if the place you work at has grooming standards. Besides, at a job-any job-you want to look clean and presentable."

"Cool. Thanks, Drake."

I finished drying my face before picking Casey up. For a moment, I looked at myself in the mirror, wondering if I was staring at a future version of myself, holding my own kid. I can't tell you how much I want that day to come. It was an almost painful feeling, like I knew deep down I was ready to be a dad and yet I'm in no position for that right now.

I guess the issue wouldn't be Casey wanting to stay; it was _me _wanting him to stay. It was going to break my heart when he finally goes home, but I knew that he needed to go home. I'm not his father.

"You sad, Drake?" Casey asked.

"No," I lied. "Why do you ask?"

"You just got really warm and there's tears going down your face."

"I'm OK. Just . . . thinking about stuff you wouldn't understand."

* * *

My mind was elsewhere the whole day, and everyone knew it. I ended up explaining everything to Hudson that afternoon when we were alone in the courtyard.

"It just sounds like you really, really care about the kid, man," Hudson replied. "Nothing wrong with that."

"How am I going to let go when he leaves? I can't . . . I can't just quit the Marines, with Vasquez, and go start a family. I can't. I can't end my contract the way you can." I rubbed my face, looking down at the table. Teardrops were spattered on it.

"I think you just gotta accept he's not yours. You'll have your own kids one day, man. I mean, I hate to say it, but do you think Casey's parents are gonna let you stay in contact with him?"

"Why wouldn't they? I haven't done anything wrong-"

"That's not what I'm talking about. Casey's got no friends his age, and you . . . you're not exactly the best influence, mentally and emotionally. Do you think it'd be good for him to continue growing up knowing you, a grown man who was in prison and is suffering from PTSD, are his only friend? I don't think so. He needs to be able to be a kid, 'cause that doesn't last forever, man. He's too young to be burdened with . . . your issues."

"But what if he's suffering-"

"I don't think he is. I've observed him just as much as you have. I think he's gonna bounce back just fine. He'd be a different person if he was suffering right now." Hudson looked at me, gray eyes unblinking. "Trust me, man. I've been around you long enough to know. I know it's gonna hurt, but . . . if you care, man, you'll let go. Deep down, the last thing you want is somebody growing up like you-alone. That's another reason you're not ready for kids, man; you still haven't fully managed your PTSD. If you can't effectively manage that, you'll never be the best dad you can be for your son or daughter." Hudson gripped my arm. "You know I'm not saying this to be mean, right?"

"No, I know." I sighed.

"I think this is also the first time you've really taken care of something or someone, so it's a different experience for you. You'll be able to move on. Who knows? Maybe you'll be able to keep in contact with Casey and he'll still be able to be a normal kid, make friends his own age, and not be . . . a lonely, grumpy old fart like you." Hudson grinned, but I wasn't smiling at all.

"I'd be much happier if you just said 'lonely, grumpy fart,'" I said, folding my arms over my chest.

"Admit it, man, you are developing some 'old man habits.' And I have seen the inside of your medicine cabinet."

With all that taken care of, I decided to focus my energy on setting up a double-date with Vasquez and Ferro and Spunkmeyer. Of course, I still had a couple days before I was allowed off-base, so it gave me some time to think about what we could do.

Naturally, I don't want anyone to get overwhelmed. That shouldn't be too difficult, because we're not having Hudson and Miranda come with us. A small part of me wanted to ask Wierzbowski and Eliza, but I reminded myself that Wierzbowski was in a foul mood right now. Plus, I think Vasquez would be happier with a smaller group. I guess it'd just be simpler to do dinner and come right back to base.

I was overthinking it, to be honest with you. I lay in bed that night, letting my thoughts bombard me every second. Not a new phenomenon for me. Normally, I go to Wierzbowski and talk until I feel sleepy, but I was afraid he was going to throw me out into the hallway.

As the base became more and more silent, I could hear Hudson snoring (of course), and my own heart beating. The clock ticked on, and I tried to push out the sound of my heartbeat, focusing instead on the slow, even snoring of Hudson.

In between Hudson's snores, I heard something else, and it was coming from Wierzbowski's room. I heard what sounded like a suppressed sob, followed by the twisting and popping of a metal cap.

I was dreaming, wasn't I?

Slowly and quietly getting out of bed, I went over to the wall, pressing my ear to it to listen closely. All I heard was more sobbing. _Gee, Wierzbowski, maybe you shouldn't have started treating us all like shit. Maybe I'd feel sorry for you, big guy. _I did feel sorry for him, though, and that was what prompted me to get my robe and boots on before going next door to see what was going on.

I hoped the sound of a twisting cap was just my imagination playing tricks on me. Dear God, I don't want Wierzbowski to be drinking again . . .

It's not exactly easy to slide open a door silently. Some doors can, but with most, you'll get some type of sound. With the bedroom doors here, no, you can't open it quietly. You can hear it rolling back into the wall, especially when the whole base is quiet.

Wierzbowski reacted swiftly. Before I could say anything, I heard something clatter on the bathroom floor, and then he was towering over me. I flinched as he swung at me. Pear seared through my face when his fist made contact, and I was on the floor, holding my head. Warm wetness suddenly gushed onto my hands from my nose, and it took a brief, but horrifying, moment for me to start breathing through my mouth. Blood was running into my mouth, bathing my tongue with a metallic taste. I was trying not to swallow it, so bloody saliva was dripping from my lips.

I was afraid my nose was broken. I wasn't sure what to do, but something woke up Hicks and he was out in the hall, still tying the band of his robe around his waist. He swore when he saw the blood everywhere and worked quickly to haul my ass down to sick bay.

* * *

Dietrich waited for my nose to stop bleeding before gently wiping my face clean and whispering, "Shit," as she tossed away the bloody tissue. "He got you good, Drake."

I wanted to ask if my nose was broken, but I was afraid it'd just start bleeding again.

Dietrich read the look of concern on my face. "It's not broken." She handed me a mirror, revealing a bruise the size of a ping-pong ball under my left eye, right next to my nose. "I guess the force was enough to make it bleed. You're gonna be fine, Drake."

Hicks walked into the room, rubbing his face. "Dietrich, what time is it?"

"It's quarter-past-midnight, Hicks."

"Quarter-past-midnight . . ." Hicks moaned. "You guys are going to push me over the edge someday."

I knew I was going to sound goofy with the massive clot in my nose, so I didn't say anything.

Hicks took a breath. "So, Wierzbowski punched Drake. Drake got a bloody nose."

"The nose isn't broken, so I don't think you need to go through the shit of locking 'Ski up for a day," Dietrich said.

"It's still an assault on a teammate."

"'Ski's been acting weird the last few days, though. What's going on?" Dietrich sounded legitimately concerned.

"Drake said something that pissed him off, and now he's venting his frustrations with everyone in the unit."

"Gee, instead of letting him beat the shit out of everyone, why don't you sit him down with Drake's therapist?"

Hicks put an unlit cigarette in his mouth. "The problem, according to Wierzbowski, is that we spend too much time telling each other what's wrong with each other-"

I coughed. "It's that we don't make him feel good for anythig." I put a clean tissue to my face, making sure I didn't start bleeding again.

"I'd much rather deal with this in the morning," Hicks said. "Wierzbowski will burn himself out eventually."

* * *

_Question: Do you think Drake would ever feel confident about becoming a father in the future if he never met Casey?_


	11. Chapter 11

I think it's fair to say that Hicks was both brave and crazy to go into Wierzbowski's room the next morning and attempt to confront him. I guess actually hitting someone had woken up Wierzbowski to the notion that his actions were not helping anyone, because he didn't get angry at Hicks.

I didn't witness the incident, but I heard that Hicks found not one, but _two_ whiskey bottles in Wierzbowski's possession. Hudson and I were both heartbroken.

"This is opening up a shit-ton of old wounds I thought were finally taken care of, man," Hudson mumbled, sitting with his legs crossed on my bed.

"For you, him, or all of us?" I asked.

"All of us. I mean, was what you said really that bad?"

"I guess so. No, really, I . . . I know Wierzbowski and I believe he and Eliza would make incredible parents if they ever had children. I said what I did out of anger and I certainly didn't mean it."

"I think there's more. Remember how he's been saying he doesn't feel good for anything? I think that's the thing we need to be looking at. What you said was just the spark to set off the fire, man."

"So, we . . . no, _I_ sent him backwards." I rubbed my face, a dull ache starting up in my chest.

"Don't blame yourself, man. It was a heated moment. Anyone coulda said something dumb like that."

I sighed, feeling sick to my stomach. _I drove Wierzbowski back to drinking. Me. The guy he trusted originally with his problems. I shattered that trust._

I was certain at that moment that I had completely destroyed my friendship with Wierzbowski. Sighing again, I looked toward the door, and then back at Hudson. "How long is he gonna be kept in sick bay?"

"Ranelli's talking to him right now, I think," Hudson replied. "Can go check and see. Why?"

"I dunno. I feel like I've . . . I've ruined everything. I always have."

"Come on, Drake, don't pin this too hard on yourself. Everything's gonna be OK. Wierzbowski's got help. He'll be fine and we'll all be talking together again before you know it." Hudson squeezed my shoulder. "It's not your fault, man. Keep telling yourself that."

* * *

The sick feeling of guilt continued throughout the day, and I knew I wasn't going to get any sleep that night. At the same time, I didn't want to be around anyone, and simply went to bed after showering.

I don't think Casey really knew what happened, but I didn't exactly put a lot of effort into concealing how I felt that day; he knew something was wrong. He's a kid, but he's not an idiot. Several minutes after I turned my light off and tried to make it look like I was sleeping, I heard the door slide open a little.

"Drake? Are you OK?"

My back was turned to him, and I was kinda hoping he didn't check whether or not I was actually asleep.

Well, I was wrong. Casey leaned his crutches against my nightstand before climbing on the bed. "Drake?"

Even though I knew he could plainly see I was awake, I didn't respond.

"You seemed really upset today, Drake. What's wrong?"

Tears were rolling down my face, and I was starting to feel it was pointless to hide my emotions anymore. Casey gave up on getting an answer out of me, and put his arms around my neck. He grabbed the tissue box from my nightstand, and began trying to dry my face.

In the past, I would've dismissed this because Casey is a child and doesn't know how much of a shitty person I am. Now, I actually felt better. I didn't feel like a terrible person.

To be honest, I couldn't explain that feeling. At least not to anyone. I guess it was a sense of someone seeking to comfort me. There was no string of advice or motivation. I will admit, sometimes, I don't want advice. I've gotten lots of it over the last several months. Sometimes, all I want is some form of comfort. I just need to know someone cares and wants me to feel better so I can process the advice later on.

I looked at Casey from the corner of my eye. "Thanks, sport."

"How come you're crying? You looked sad all day," Casey whispered. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. I made . . . a big mistake when we were at the amusement park a couple days ago, and . . . it's causing my friends a lot of hurt right now. I said something I shouldn't have said."

"That why we haven't seen Wierzbowski all day? He's mad at you?"

"He's . . . got some issues that I'm not going to go into detail with you. He'll probably be fine in the next day or so, but it's . . . it's my fault."

"So that's why you looked upset. Doesn't explain that big bruise on your face, though."

"Wierzbowski and I had a fight early this morning. Gave me a bloody nose, too."

"I'm just surprised he didn't break your face."

A weak smile came across my face. "Yeah, I'm a little surprised, too."

Casey seemed happy I was looking happier. He put his head on my chest before saying, "You know, I probably shoulda said, 'Thank you,' a long time ago."

"For what?"

"For saving me and taking care of me. You guys're like a group of big brothers and sisters, but you're not mean and bossy."

"Do you have a mean and bossy older sibling?"

"No, but some of the kids at school do. I'm probably gonna be that someday, 'cause I got a little sister. Didn't you say you had an older sister?"

"Yeah, but . . . let's not talk about that."

"Why not?"

I took a breath. "I don't want to."

"Why? You say that for a lot of stuff."

I looked toward the door, and let out a sigh before sitting up and putting Casey on my lap. "Do you want . . . my whole story?"

Casey gave me a slightly confused look.

"I'm really not the hero you think I am. I . . . I didn't originally want to join the Marines. I was in prison." I rubbed my face, preparing for the onslaught of memories-and for Casey to have his entire view of me flipped on its head. "I did something wrong. I was supposed to pay for it the rest of my life. Instead, I got the chance to serve in order to do away with my sentence, and I took that."

I could tell Casey was thinking real hard about this. I could tell he wasn't sure whether to believe me or not.

But, he did believe me. He trusted me.

"What'd you do?" he asked.

I took another breath. "I killed three people."

"Why?"

"I would've been killed if I didn't do anything first. No way around it. Then I stole one of their cars, and . . . ran away. Got caught, but . . . that was it for me."

There was silence for a minute, and Casey looked up at me with big green eyes. "I still like you, Drake. You're good to your friends and teammates. You showed you're not a bad guy. You pulled me outta the house after the hurricane. Bad guy wouldn't have done that."

I wished I knew how to explain the details, but I didn't want to at the moment. "Are you gonna go to your own bed now?"

"Yeah." Casey got off me. "Good night, Drake."

"Good night, sport."

* * *

I guess I'm surprised that Casey just accepted what he heard. He didn't look at me differently and he wasn't suddenly scared of me. Truthfully, I should just take that as a sign I need to stop beating myself up.

In the morning, I got to talk to Wierzbowski in the courtyard. He looked tired, pale, and I noticed (I could've been mistaken, though) that he had lost some weight. Originally, I had thought I was going to talk about how this made me feel and how I was sorry, but I changed my mind; saying that would sound like I felt everything was about me. I guess this was one of those moments where I needed to just suffer in silence and-

"Are you OK, Drake?"

Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief. _That_ was the Wierzbowski I knew. He's a good guy, he cares about me. He's not punching me in the face at ungodly hours. I can be honest with him. "Not really," I said, softly.

"Dietrich told me that I didn't break your nose. When . . . W-When you fell away, I was worried that I did. There was blood everywhere. I thought-"

"I'll be fine," I replied. "Just a bruise."

"Good."

I sighed again. "So . . . what happened?"

Wierzbowski bit his lip before looking down at the cup of tea Ranelli had given him. "I fell apart, honestly. I thought too hard on something I should've let go. It . . . It almost felt like I'd been sent back to the days . . . after my divorce, when I felt so unbelievably worthless . . ." Tears filled his eyes. "I-I know, now, I'm not worthless, but it was . . . it was really overwhelming."

I opened my mouth to say, "_Why didn't you talk to me or Hudson?_" but I stopped, knowing that probably wouldn't be helpful. "I've been there," I said.

"Well, I was mad at you for no reason, so . . . I didn't say anything. And I was mad at Hudson. I was mad at . . . everyone, so I turned to the one thing that didn't make me angry anymore."

"What's Ranelli gonna do about it?"

"He said we caught it early enough to where we shouldn't have to worry too much, but he wants to see me every couple days to make sure I'm still moving forwards and not backwards." Wierzbowski glanced at me. "I'm never looking at whiskey the same fucking way again. I-If I ever decide I want to try alcohol with dinner or something, I am not having whiskey. Can't do it. Anything else, but not whiskey."

"Pity. Whiskey's my drink of choice," I said, grinning a little.

"I know. Enjoy it all you want, Drake."

"Have you told Eliza?"

"No. I don't know how I'm gonna tell her. I know I haven't spoken to her in three days and I should. I don't want her to get worried." Wierzbowski took a breath, putting his head in his hands. "I have to be honest. I have to tell her exactly what happened, and let her know it wasn't her fault."

"Yeah. It was my fault."

"Oh, don't start that, Drake. It wasn't your fault at all. We were all hot and bothered and angry and made mistakes that day. We'll try not to do it again."

"So, we're still friends."

"Absolutely."

I gave another lopsided grin. "Thanks." I glanced back at the main building. "Vasquez and I are gonna take Ferro and Spunkmeyer somewhere for their first date. Should be fun."

"I forgot, they're having feelings for each other. Honestly, I'm surprised they haven't been dating from the start."

"Well, Ferro kinda told Spunkmeyer that it'd never work, way back when. Then they met me and Vasquez, and things changed."

"Jesus, that's gotta be, what, four or five years of bottled-up feelings?" Wierzbowski folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. "Poor souls."

"I just hope this date doesn't crash and burn."

"Are you taking Hudson with you?"

"No."

"Then you should be fine."

* * *

Things were quiet up until the day the four of us agreed to go out. Nothing exciting or interesting (aside from Hudson losing twenty-five more dollars to the swear jar last night during an intense poker game with donut holes) happened.

I'll admit, tonight's outing might be boring without Hudson, but I think the quietness was important for Ferro and Spunkmeyer.

I was helping Spunkmeyer with tips and the like, and as far as I know, Vasquez wasn't helping Ferro very much. I think it's mainly because Vasquez doesn't feel like she has any good advice to give. After all, I'm the only person she's had a serious relationship with.

Before we headed out, I reluctantly left Casey with the others in the lounge. "Now, behave, tattle on Hudson when he swears, and we should be back in a couple hours, OK?"

"Seriously, man?" Hudson moaned in the background.

"Why can't I come with you?" Casey pouted.

"Because this is a grown-up . . . date-thing, whatever. No kids. Besides, you'll have more fun with Hudson."

Casey shrugged.

"Maybe he'll show you how to play pool, if you're nice to him. And bribe him with cookies."

Of course, a certain someone chirped up, "Who's got cookies, man?"

I put my hands on Casey's shoulders. "We'll be back. Be good."

"OK, Drake."

I actually almost felt bad for leaving Casey, but I knew it'd be better for Ferro and Spunkmeyer to have no silliness tonight.

Even without Hudson and Miranda to make things . . . slightly uncomfortable, the first few minutes in the restaurant were loaded with an awkward silence. Spunkmeyer was pale, and I could see a bead of sweat rolling down his face.

Vasquez couldn't take the silence, though. She looked at Spunkmeyer, and probably would've backhanded him if we weren't out in public. "Talk to her," she whispered.

"About what?" Spunkmeyer asked. "I can't think of anything."

"Do we really have to talk?" I said. "Why can't we just sit and enjoy each other's company?"

"Drake, the silence has already become awkward," Vasquez replied.

"Maybe we should've brought Hudson," I muttered. "He would've made things more entertaining."

"Pissing in the plants right next to the bar doesn't count as entertainment."

"Come on, it's better than . . ." I looked at a sign next to a small stage reading "karaoke night," "people who can't sing trying to sing."

"Why didn't you check that before we came here?" Ferro asked.

I shrugged.

"Great." Spunkmeyer sighed. "Now we'll be stuck here listening to some tone-deaf drunk screech like a dying animal."

"We don't have to stay. Just . . . eat fast and we'll get outta here," I replied.

"Drake, you can't eat fast," Vasquez sighed.

"Why not?"

"Because it makes you sick."

I gestured to Ferro and Spunkmeyer. "Bingo! We're having a conversation."

Vasquez elbowed me under the table.

"Ow! Come on, honey, at least it's not, 'The weather's great today!'" I hugged her, nuzzling her face and kissing her forehead. "As long as you're grumpy, I'll be annoying."

"Now, _this_ is something I've never seen before," Spunkmeyer whispered.

"Yeah," Ferro replied, "it's kinda cute."

"But . . . it's _Drake_."

"So? He loves her. Let him be affectionate."

Their conversation wasn't exactly quiet, so Vasquez whispered to me, in Spanish, "You're sleeping in your own bed tonight."

A waiter finally got around to us, and gave us all a few minutes to decide on drinks. I noticed Ferro was giving Spunkmeyer a slightly concerned look when a waiter set a good-sized glass of beer in front of him.

"You sure you're gonna drink all that?" she asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"I'll finish it if he can't," I said. "You're not an experienced drinker, are you?"

Spunkmeyer gave me the dirtiest look I've ever seen the little guy give. He kept looking at me, hazel eyes practically burning into my soul, and then picked up the glass and started drinking.

Vasquez glanced at me. "I think he's trying to prove a point to you."

"I can see that." I nodded. "I wasn't saying that to be mean, Spunkmeyer-"

"I know," Spunkmeyer replied, taking another long sip of his beer.

In all honesty, I could sense that Spunkmeyer wasn't happy about my comment regarding him not being an experienced drinker. I mean, I haven't really seen him drink. Frankly, I don't care; I just need to be mindful of myself so we don't have a repeat of the amusement park.

However, a part of me felt like telling Spunkmeyer he shouldn't be taking in that much on an empty stomach, but I also felt like he'd just give me that dirty look again.

The waiter was taking his time with our food, and Spunkmeyer was steadily becoming more talkative.

"Alright, remember when we were talking about love back at the grill in Spain?" Spunkmeyer said. "Let's go back to that conversation, 'cause I remember me and Ferro were saying how we weren't going to date 'cause we didn't think it'd work out."

"That was a couple months ago," I replied.

"So? You and Vasquez've been dating . . . four years?"

"It'll be five in September."

"Only you are keeping tracking of that, Drake," Vasquez sighed.

"Someone has to remember all the anniversaries, sweetheart." I kissed her.

"Ferro and I kissed once," Spunkmeyer slurred. "Twice, actually, if you count that time in the hotel on our way to Tampa to meet Apone and the rest of the guys for the first time."

Ferro blushed a little bit.

"I don't think I'm a good kisser. She's a good kisser, I remember."

I looked at Vasquez. "I'm a good kisser, right?"

"The best kisser," Vasquez replied. "Actually, I don't know, because you're the only guy I've kissed."

I nuzzled her cheek, and kissed her again. "I love you."

A small smile tugged at the edges of her mouth, and that made me even more happy.

"I love you more than life itself," I whispered. "Come on, kiss me back. Kiss your favorite dumbass in the whole damn world back."

"I'll kiss you later."

"Don't leave me hanging, honey." I nuzzled her again, and she finally took my face to kiss my right cheek.

"Your room later tonight," she whispered, quiet enough to where only I could hear her.

"This is still not as bad as Miranda and Hudson," Ferro said.

"OK, I never seen them in public. What exactly do they do?" Spunkmeyer asked, hiccupping.

"They try to be cutesy and lovey-dovey and it's just obnoxious. Miranda kisses Hudson and cuddles him and pokes his belly like he's a giant fucking teddy bear."

"I told her he's like a big teddy bear," I said. "That's probably why she does it."

"Oh, so it's _your_ fault no one else likes hanging out with them?" Vasquez replied.

"Maybe."

"Nice job, Drake."

As the evening went on, Ferro was looking disappointed. I couldn't tell if it was with herself or Spunkmeyer or me and Vasquez, but after spending a lot of time around Wierzbowski and Eliza, I started to wonder if she just wanted alone-time with Spunkmeyer.

Spunkmeyer, on the other hand, was pretty tipsy. "Honestly, Drake, you're right," he slurred. "This's my first time drinking."

"OK," I said.

"I'm not even twenty-one!" He laughed. "That's right, I'm twenty! Oh, oh, I gotta tell you this, Drake-" Spunkmeyer leaned in to tell me, "I ran away from 'home' at sixteen! I ditched the bitch, lied about my age, and got in!"

I suddenly felt uncomfortable. _He's just drunk. There's no way any of that is true._

"I don't even have a driver's license!"

"OK, sweetie, you've had enough!" Ferro pulled the glass away from Spunkmeyer. "You're saying stupid things right now and you need to stop drinking for tonight."

"Stupid? How's it stupid? It's true, ain't it?"

"No, it's not. Eat your dinner; you've had way too much alcohol with nothing else in your stomach. No more." Ferro looked at me. "You're not actually gonna drink his beer, are you?"

"Nah, probably not," I sighed, trying to mask my anxiety over what Spunkmeyer said.

My nervousness was a breeding ground of bad thoughts and memories. _There's no way Spunkmeyer can be underage; Jesus Christ, I just allowed a minor to have alcohol! _I can get in a lot of trouble for that. I could get kicked out of the Marines. I could get sent back to jail.

I heard sirens outside the restaurant. Every second of the day I got caught and arrested outside Pittsburgh flashed before my eyes. My heart was pounding hard and fast in my chest . . .

Standing up, I walked quickly to the bathroom, feeling unsteady. Without a second thought, I locked myself in a stall, letting panic grip me in its sharp talons.

* * *

_Question: What might Drake's biggest mistake be in regards to Ferro and Spunkmeyer's first date?_


	12. Chapter 12

I knew I was wrong those three days I was running away. There was no sense of personal liberation. Just guilt, shame, and fear. To this day, I'm not sure why I kept running. I guess it was a primal need to survive; whoever called the police had told them I was armed and dangerous.

They also knew I was guilty as soon as they found me in the woods outside the city. I had ditched the car when it ran out of gas, and I ditched my gun. I kept going on foot for roughly thirty-six hours, with no food and no water. I remember, vividly, hearing the sirens, and the German shepherds. A few minutes later, a flashlight clicked on behind me, and I saw my long, skinny shadow appear in front of me. My hands went to my head. I was crying, but I wasn't pleading or begging or struggling. I knew I was wrong. I knew I had fucked up real bad.

Tonight, I knew I had done something wrong. I had allowed a minor to drink alcohol, and get drunk. I know I had no idea Spunkmeyer was underage.

Then again, I don't even know if it's true.

I felt the grip of panic loosen, and gradually, I returned to reality. My arms were covered in goosebumps, and I was shivering as the last remnants of panic fled from my body, retreating to the darkest recesses of my brain. It took some time for me to feel like I could get up and leave the restroom. Frankly, this has never happened before, in public, without Wierzbowski or Hudson coming after to me to try and console me. Neither of them were there, though, so I was completely on my own.

I felt a lot more beat up coming out of this particular panic attack. Part of it was because I faced it alone, and the other was because it involved a memory I haven't put at the forefront of my mind in a long time. It left me feeling drained; I just wanted to go back to base, and go to sleep.

However, when I left the restroom, I heard someone slurring the words to a song on the karaoke stage, and there was Spunkmeyer, half-leaning on the microphone with a beer mug in hand.

Oh, dear God, what have I done?

* * *

I wasn't the only one not happy over the results of that evening. When we finally got back to base, Ferro was in tears, and I felt obliged to console her.

In the meantime, Spunkmeyer stumbled into the main hallway with his eyes glazed over and his face as red as a cherry. He almost crashed into Hicks, who was, as you probably guessed, not happy about this.

Oh, you can bet your boots and your weekly salary that Hicks was madder than a wet hen. After what me and Hudson did, I don't think he was going to put up with anyone returning drunk anymore. But, I think he only didn't rip into Spunkmeyer because he's never done this before. And Hudson wasn't involved, so there's that. Plus, I had a feeling the only reason Hicks was mad was because Ferro was crying. He doesn't like seeing any of his Marines this upset.

I was too scared to say anything about what Spunkmeyer said. In fact, I was dismissing it as a drunken ramble.

Ferro slammed shut the door to her room, and I swallowed nervously before knocking. "Hey, can I talk to you?"

"No!" she yelled.

I took a breath. "Ferro, I'm sorry things didn't go the way you thought. Please, let me talk to you."

I heard an angry sigh, and then Ferro threw the door open. "You know, that's _exactly_ what Spunkmeyer said to me when we first met! Clearly, he cared then. He doesn't care now-"

"That's not true. He made a mistake, and . . . things'll be better tomorrow."

Despite still looking mad, Ferro let me in her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

"Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Is Spunkmeyer . . . underage?"

Ferro was silent for a moment, then she sighed. "Yes. Yes, he is."

My stomach contorted painfully.

"Don't say anything, OK?"

"Why didn't either of you tell me before?!"

"I'm actually surprised Hudson didn't tell you!"

"_Hudson_ knew?!"

The room was quiet. I sat on the bed next to Ferro, not sure what to think or feel. One thing managed to surface, though. "Tell me the whole story," I said. "Why didn't you and Spunkmeyer date in the first place, even though he told me you both had feelings for each other?"

"I didn't believe something like that would ever work out. I thought it could effect our work and we'd get in trouble and it'd just . . . it'd just lead to a big mess rather than happiness." Ferro rubbed her face.

"And then you found out about me and Vasquez and thought things might actually work."

"It wasn't just that. I did . . . I did have feelings for you. It wasn't just me trying to forget about Spunkmeyer. I actually did have feelings for you."

"Well, I must be doing something right. First Miranda, then you," I snorted.

"Drake, I'm not being funny."

"I know. Go on."

"I think . . . when I realized that I couldn't be more than friends with you, it was a sign that I needed to re-evaluate how I felt about Spunkmeyer. After all, you and Vasquez have this . . . very deep bond that no one can break. I would never be able to convince you to leave Vasquez. I don't think . . . what I have with Spunkmeyer is as deep, but it's close. He was the only person willing to help me when I was struggling to get through training. He listens, and I listen to him, and . . . maybe I shouldn't have dismissed the idea the first time he brought it up, you know, about having a romantic relationship."

"If you get that from Spunkmeyer, why did you develop feelings for me?"

"I just told you, I . . . didn't realize what I had until . . . until you kinda showed me. You didn't outright say this is what you had with Vasquez, but . . . it's what I observed and learned. That's how I realized I have all that with Spunkmeyer. We can make a relationship work."

"Still doesn't explain why you guys didn't actually talk at the restaurant."

Something burned in Ferro's gray eyes. "I think I know why; would you want to have a personal conversation with Vasquez in front of other people?"

"No-"

"Exactly. I didn't feel comfortable talking about . . . what I want out of a relationship in front of you and Vasquez. For one thing, you'd probably start making raunchy jokes, and you were just . . . you were being a tiny bit obnoxious. Not Hudson-levels of obnoxious, but it was there. I wasn't expecting that."

I looked down at my lap. "Well, I'm sorry I acted that way. Probably should've been a bit more conscientious, and I wasn't. Honestly, you and Spunkmeyer should've just went on your own."

"That's exactly what I was thinking."

"Yeah."

Ferro glanced at me. "I shouldn't hold too much against you. I mean, you and Vasquez don't get to do stuff like this very often, so I can't blame you for wanting to be affectionate."

"No, but we still should've thought this through a little more. Spunkmeyer wanted help, and I felt . . . him seeing how we are on a date would give him a good idea of what to do. But, and I've said this to Hudson and Wierzbowski many times, what Vasquez and I do won't work for everyone else, so, this wasn't . . . this wasn't a good idea."

Ferro touched my shoulder. "I really can't stay mad at you, Drake."

"Thanks." My mind turned to something else. "I just feel awful about Spunkmeyer. I . . ."

"He'll be fine. Like I said, you don't have to say anything."

"How on Earth did he manage to enlist underage?"

"He was desperate to leave home, so he did what he could. You've heard his story, right?"

"Yeah. Everyone kinda left out the part that he enlisted underage."

"Look, people will dismiss what he said as drunken babble. It's nothing to worry about. I'll . . . I'll talk to him tomorrow, clear things up."

I was about to stand up, but then I looked at Ferro. "You'll be OK here? Nothing else you wanna talk about?"

Ferro moved closer to me in order to put her arms around my neck, and give me a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be fine. You're a good friend, Drake."

I smiled at that, and decided to kiss her cheek as well. Letting go of her, I stood up. "Good-night, Ferro."

* * *

I don't think I should've done that, to be honest. You know, the whole returning-the-hug-and-kissing-her part. It made my dreams weird.

I was expecting to have nightmares about my past. Instead, I was dreaming about a very blissful and passionate moment with Ferro. That simple kiss on the cheek gradually turned into a session of kissing each other on the lips, hugging each other tightly, and pushing each other into the bed. We kept things going even after the lights went out, and that was kinda when it got . . . I guess the right words are _really physical_, because that's what happened. I'm not going into detail.

I was glad to finally wake up from that dream. Groaning, I rubbed my face, feeling awful for having it in the first place.

When I took my hands from my face, I saw someone staring at me.

"Hey, Drake," Casey said.

I jumped, wondering just how long Casey had been standing next to the bed. "What are you doing? Get back in bed!"

"I can't sleep, so I came to see you."

I sighed. "Casey, just go back to your own room, and lay there. You'll fall asleep."

"You were twitching and making noises. Were you having a bad dream?"

"No. Go to bed, or I'm gonna put you back myself."

In the morning, Spunkmeyer walked into the mess hall, holding a hot water bottle to his head. I could smell puke on him, so he probably collapsed on the bed after vomiting and never showered last night, which is gross.

"Uh-oh, I know that look, man," Hudson said.

"You practically own that look, Hudson," Frost replied. He glanced at Spunkmeyer. "What happened to you?"

"I don't remember," Spunkmeyer moaned.

"You had three or four beers last night, buddy," I said. "And then you got on the karaoke stage-"

"Oh, no." Spunkmeyer put his head on the table, the hot water bottle sliding into his arms.

"Honestly, him drunkenly singing 'New York, New York' was probably not the worst thing I've ever heard," Vasquez added.

"Yeah. Remember the time Hudson tried singing 'Happy Birthday' to Hicks a couple years ago?" Ferro asked.

"He couldn't remember the words, he was so wasted!" Frost laughed. "He started making stuff up, it was hilarious!"

"And then he threw up on my cake," Hicks sighed. "Right in front of me."

Hudson was red with embarrassment. "Can we not talk about that, man?"

Even Wierzbowski was laughing. "A-And then he looked down at what he just did and said, 'Huh. That's one nasty-looking cake, man. You should probably send it back!'"

"To which I said, 'I don't think we can unless you eat it,'" Hicks replied.

"And he tried!" Tears of laughter were running down Wierzbowski's face.

"That was a mistake on my part. I think he got half-a-piece down when it came right back up." Hicks looked across the table at Hudson. "We still enjoy your company, buddy."

"You know what? I hate you guys right now." Hudson stood up, and dumped his tray in the trash can.

We all looked at each other, baffled at Hudson's behavior. Sighing, I got up. "I'll go see what's going on."

I found Hudson hiding in his bathroom. He looked up when I came in, and said, "Don't you know how to knock, man?"

"Just tell me what's going on."

Hudson rubbed his face. "Miranda's graduation is in five days, man. That's five days till I meet her parents. I don't know what I'm gonna with . . . I don't know what to say or do. I can't . . . I don't need to be reminded of the stuff I've done, man."

"You're not obliged to tell them every little detail about your past," I said. "If they pressure you, then you need to stand up for yourself. Just say, 'I have some regrets. I've changed a lot. Leave it alone.'"

"What if Miranda doesn't like that?"

"If she's not gonna let you stand up for yourself, then she's not the right girl for you. It's that simple."

Hudson still looked upset. "I hate the feeling of being torn between Miranda's loyalty, and the friends I've made here. Y-You know, I don't like being seen as 'whipped' or 'no fun anymore.'"

"That's their problem. You yourself have said you really regret a lot of the stuff you did. Aren't you . . . happier with Miranda?"

"Yeah."

"Then why are you torn? Do you think everyone here is just going to ignore you now that you have a real girlfriend? I don't think so. They're gonna accept it, and you in general. We're a unit. We protect each other's asses in battle. They're not gonna let something as stupid as you not looking for hookups anymore get in the way of the fact that you're a good Marine and a genuine friend. You're so much more than what you were when you first enlisted."

Hudson nodded a little.

"Trust me when I say this is another case of needing to let go of the past." My thoughts abruptly turned to last night, and a wave of nausea surged through me. "It's hard. I know."

"I don't need this speech again, man."

"I'm your best friend; it's my job to give you blunt speeches."

That brought a smile to Hudson's face, finally.

* * *

I felt like I had to tell Ranelli about the dream I had last night. He listened the whole time, and didn't once look confused or concerned.

"Do you think it has any meaning?" I asked.

"That's not something I can give a definitive answer to," Ranelli said. "On one hand, it could be your tired brain piecing together things you've heard and making a messy dream out of them."

"I haven't been getting a lot of sleep, so, I guess that makes sense."

"On the other hand, it could be Ferro gave you a subconscious hint that she hasn't fully let go of the idea of a romantic relationship with you. The dream is a manifestation of unresolved emotions and desires."

"I have no desire to have sex with Ferro, though."

"Maybe not, if we look at it another way, you're afraid of the idea that she wants to have sex with you, and that's why you had that dream. At the end of the day, though, it's just a dream, and it all depends on your perspective on dreams whether or not you believe it has a deeper meaning."

I sighed. "Well, frankly, I don't care if she wants to fuck me. She's just gonna have to work up the courage to talk to Spunkmeyer about it because they were supposed to talk last night, and they didn't, because it's my fault. As always."

"I wondered what all the commotion was last night."

"Yeah, Spunkmeyer got drunk. And announced to the world that he's . . . he's underage. And that he enlisted underage."

"I already knew that."

"How?"

"You don't think the rest of your unit comes to me for advice?"

I paused. "Didn't think about that. I thought you were supposed to keep that confidential."

"If Spunkmeyer wasn't a close friend of yours, I'd keep it confidential. Anyway, yes, I'm aware he actually enlisted at sixteen to get away from his adoptive mother. I'm a little surprised you didn't know, given how much he trusts you."

"Ferro knows, and Hudson knows. Now I know. I mean, it's gonna get dismissed as drunken rambling, so I don't give a shit anymore."

"I think you're upset you weren't made aware of this beforehand."

"Yeah, I am. I feel awful that I . . . I got him drunk, and it's something I can get in a lot of trouble for. It . . ." I paused, trying to compose my thoughts. "I got so nervous last night that I started reliving the night I got arrested."

"How long ago did that happen?"

"It'll be . . . five years in August."

"Is it something you think about very often?"

"I try not to."

"Ah." Ranelli set down his clipboard. "Do you consider it a traumatic memory?"

"You mean me, or what I think a psychology textbook considers-"

"You."

I shrugged. "Yeah. It's . . . I wasn't physically hurt or close to death, but it was . . . just realizing I was likely never going to live a normal life. I wasn't going to get what I wanted."

"Personal solace."

I nodded. "I let . . . everyone's expectations for me crush everything. I couldn't-wasn't allowed to be happy unless everyone around me was happy. You know, I . . . I can remember playing by myself in elementary school. I can remember this big sandbox in the center of the playground, and no one else really used it, so I'd go in there and do what I wanted. That made me happy. I had control, and no one bothered me and it was perfect. Then there was the day that there was a new girl in class and she wasn't sure what to do during recess, so she sat under a tree and cried. Someone came up to me and told me to invite her into the sandbox. I said no, which . . . was a mistake. I got tattled on and it . . . it escalated and it shouldn't have. It was stupid, but people wouldn't let it go. People were telling my parents that they thought something was wrong with me, that I was very apathetic to other people's feelings. I mean, in a way, it was true; the more people pushed, the more I wanted to be left alone."

"This is what led you to attempt running away, and led to you killing those three young men."

"Even though I never wanted to hurt anyone, I feel like . . . it proved everyone right. They said I was going to turn into a monster, and I did."

Ranelli shook his head. "I think your friends here would disagree with that. Not only are you not a monster, but you're also not wholly apathetic. You're finding the balance of being able to care for yourself, and caring for others. Will you ever find the true balance? No. No one ever does. You do tilt toward the 'caring mainly for yourself' side, but not on the extreme. As a child, you wouldn't have understood fully what you wanted, or what anyone else wanted. That's something you had to learn as you grew up, and you weren't able to. Plus, I suspect you suppressed that a little."

I nodded.

"I also suspect this is something you've been wanting to say aloud to someone for a long time."

"Yeah. I just didn't know how to say it."

"Well, I hope, in one way or another, this helps you make peace with your past. Sometimes, all you need is someone else knowing your story and putting it into perspective in order for you to think about it a little differently, and make peace with it, accept what happened."

"I just feel like there's way too much I need to make peace with. There's . . . getting arrested, there's the silver flower incident. It's . . . a lot."

"This is where you realize that the people in your past were partially right. This is where you seek out friends, people who understand you, to help you. You can't fight this alone, and you've realized that the hard way."

I took a breath, nodding. "I . . . don't know how to thank you."

"Don't bother. I'm just doing my job."

* * *

_Question: How do you think Spunkmeyer would respond if he found out his actions inadvertently led Drake to panicking?_

_Author's Note: Hudson is that person you're never entirely sure you want at a birthday party. On the one hand, he's very entertaining, but on the other, there's the potential for him completely ruining everything-but you still love him in the end._


	13. Chapter 13

Casey was sitting on my lap while I tried to play cards with some of the other guys in the lounge. He looked over at Wierzbowski, and then at Hudson, who was chewing on a piece of gum to keep himself from stealing the Oreos we were using as chips.

"Did you talk to Eliza yet 'bout what happened?" Hudson asked.

"Last night, yeah," Wierzbowski replied. "She told me she kinda felt like something bad was gonna happen after what happened at the park, and she wishes she could've done something to help. I said, 'Don't worry about it. Everything's OK now.'"

"You sure, man?"

Wierzbowski nodded. "I mean, I've been having . . . weird dreams where I get out of bed and the first thing I do is open a-"

I covered Casey's ears. "Hey, the kid's here, bud."

"Sorry. Anyway, yeah, I've been having strange dreams, and a craving occasionally, but that's it. I think I can control myself." Wierzbowski looked at me. "I still feel awful about hitting you."

I gestured to the bruise on my face, which was starting to fade. "It'll be fine. Not the first time I've been punched, and probably won't be the last."

"Why'd somebody wanna hit you, Drake?" Casey asked.

"Because I can't keep my mouth shut."

Hicks entered the lounge, holding a tray of covered plastic cups. "Went down to one of the on-site cafés and grabbed some drinks for everyone," he said. "It's all iced hibiscus tea."

"What's hi-biscuit?" Casey asked.

Hicks grinned. "_Hibiscus_. It's a flower."

"Ma makes iced tea with orange. Says it's a secret recipe or something like that."

I looked at Hicks. "Does every family down south have a secret iced tea recipe?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Hicks laughed. "Only thing I'll tell you about mine is that it's raspberry."

"And fried chicken recipes? How many different ways can you possibly do fried chicken?"

"I can't tell you."

Hudson spit his gum into a napkin before taking his cup. "Thanks, Hicks. You didn't bring anything else, did you?"

"I used my own money to get that for you. You better be thankful for what I got. Aren't you meeting the girlfriend's parents in a couple days? You better make sure you go in with a good attitude."

Hudson immediately looked deflated. "Don't bring it up, man."

"Saying this for your own good."

I adjusted Casey on my lap so I could directly face Hicks. "Dude, leave him alone."

"I know what I'm doing, man," Hudson said, slapping down his cards as he glared at Hicks. "How come everybody's acting like I'm gonna fuck this up?!"

I covered Casey's ears again. "Come on, guys, either knock it off or take it elsewhere."

"No, you can take the kid outta the room, man! I'm sick and tired of you people acting like I'm a failure!"

Hicks maintained his expression. "Alright, take it easy, Hudson, it was just a joke-"

"Well, I'm done being the butt of your jokes, man! I expect this shit from Frost and Dietrich, but not you, man! Not the fucking squad corporal! You're supposed to have my back!"

Hicks looked baffled for a minute. "I'm not obliged to have your back in anything. Under no circumstances do I have to pick a side in any of your stupid arguments. I _choose_ to help you guys with your personal problems. There is nothing in my contract that says I have to side with you."

Hudson's anger reached a boiling point. "Yeah, I'll bet that's why those two guys in your old squad committed suicide."

I kept my hands over Casey's ears, despite the fact that there was now an immensely heavy silence. I noticed Wierzbowski swallowing nervously as his eyes darted from Hudson to Hicks to me. Something was going to explode.

"Drake, I wanna leave," Casey whispered in my ear.

"OK, sport, we'll get outta here." I stood up, shifting Casey while I grabbed his crutches.

As we left the lounge, I was listening for anything behind us. So far, it seemed like Hicks and Hudson were just going to stand there and stare angrily at each other, but I hoped they didn't start yelling at each while Casey was still in earshot. I moved a little faster, trying to think of someplace Casey and I could go.

I turned into the courtyard, and closed the door behind me. Sighing, I sat at one of the tables, putting Casey back on my lap. There was silence for a few minutes, then Casey said, "What happened?"

"Something's bothering Hudson," I replied. "He'll be fine. He just . . . needs to get his feelings out."

"Felt like there was gonna be a fight," Casey whispered.

"Well, hopefully, there wasn't," I said.

There was some more quiet for another few minutes, and then I felt something wet and warm on my left shoulder. "When am I going home?"

I sighed. "I don't know. Give it time."

"Been giving it time. I'm never going home."

"You'll go home. It'll probably happen when you least expect it, OK?" I looked Casey in the eye. "Don't give up. I don't want you to give up hope. Can you do that for me? I've done a lot for you, so, I want you to do just one thing for me, alright?"

Casey nodded, wrapping his arms tighter around my neck. "Hey, Drake?"

"What?"

"D'you think I'd be a good smartgunner?"

"If you're willing to put in the work, yeah. Why? Do you wanna enlist when you grow up and become a smartgunner like me?"

"Yep."

A weak smile crossed my face. "Hey, if that's what you wanna do, I won't stop you."

Wierzbowski opened the door to the courtyard, holding three plastic cups of hibiscus tea. "Drake, I managed to save what I could. I think this full one is yours."

"What's the status on Hicks and Hudson?" I asked, shifting Casey again.

"Not good. Hicks . . . exploded. God, it was bad. I swear, I couldn't tell if he was just that angry, or his bloody bipolar flared up. He may've gotten violent with Hudson, I don't know. I got outta there as soon as I could, but I managed to save the tea."

"Good for you," I sighed. "I think everyone needs a vacation. We're stuck with each other for far too long. It makes everyone more irritable."

"I don't think we have control over that. Unless you have the days and a clean discipline record, you're not going anywhere."

"I know." I looked up at the clear sky. "Could take a day trip out to the bay or something-" I adjusted Casey, "and take him with us."

"You and Hudson aren't going to drink yourselves into a stupor?"

"No. Besides, I think Vasquez might actually go with us this time."

Wierzbowski rubbed his face. "Honestly, I don't want to go back to the amusement park. It's too loud, and I'd like some peace and quiet for once."

"We could rent a pontoon boat or something, just sit on the bay for a few hours and do nothing. Weather's perfect for it."

Wierzbowski glanced in one of the windows, seeing Hicks storm down the hall. "I have a feeling it might just be you, me, the kid, and our girlfriends. I don't think Hudson will be coming."

* * *

It didn't take very long for the news of Hicks and Hudson's fight to spread around the unit. Everyone knew what happened, and everyone knew what was said between them. One thing I noticed, however, was that no one really felt Hicks was in the wrong, even though I (and Wierzbowski) knew that Hicks shouldn't have provoked Hudson in the first place. Everyone got wind of the fact that Hudson went right for the jugular in bringing up the two suicides from Hicks's previous squadron, but they didn't pay attention to the fact that Hicks had brought up Hudson meeting Miranda's parents, which was something Hudson just didn't want to talk about.

Frankly, I refused to get my ass dragged into this, so I stayed out of it. Wierzbowski and I knew the truth, and we sorta made a silent pact not to say anything to anyone because we knew it was going to blow up in our faces.

Trust me when I say I didn't like seeing people go up to Hudson and yell at him for what he said to Hicks, but, it definitely wasn't something he should've said in the first place. Dietrich, in particular, really gave Hudson a piece of her mind during exercises. Then Crowe kinda laid it on thick for Hudson during cleanup. It ended with everyone leaving the buckets of bleach and sponges and hot water around Hudson, basically telling him he should clean all the exercise equipment for being such an asshole.

The lights were turned off as I was half out the door. The heavy click was still echoing as I looked over my shoulder at Hudson, who was already soaking a sponge in the potent bleach mix and running it along one of the weight bars.

He looked up when the door shut, and saw me standing in front of them. "What the fuck do you want, man?"

I walked over to him, unable to put up with the pangs in my chest anymore. "I'm gonna help you," I said.

"I don't need it, and I don't want it, man. I earned it." Hudson looked like he was about to cry. "You saw the whole thing, man."

"Yeah, so?" I shrugged. "I saw what happened, and I think Hicks should've listened to me when I told him to leave you alone."

"You're the only one who thinks so, man." Hudson fell silent, watching me slop bleach all over the bench press. Aside from the echo, it was the room was uncomfortably quiet. I could hear Hudson struggling to control his breathing and try not to break into a sob.

I glanced at him. "If you're gonna cry, do it," I said. "Don't bottle it up like that, buddy."

Sure enough, he burst into tears. Without a second thought, I jogged into the bathroom to wash the bleach from my hands and returned to sit next to Hudson and try to console him. He kept sobbing, and proceeded to do so in my shoulder when he hugged me.

"We all make fuck-ups. This'll pass, OK?" I said.

Undoubtedly, I wasn't thrilled that the tearstains on my shirt had snot mixed in them, but I chose not to let go anyway. I don't think Hudson was all too sure about how to respond, but I had a feeling that he didn't view this as just another mistake. Everyone knows you don't talk about Hicks's past in front of Hicks. Blatantly using his past to insult him? You are stepping into hostile territory, my friend. You are risking life and limb. Hudson knew he was wrong in what he said. I could sense his guilt, because I knew exactly how he felt.

I could understand if he felt like this was the last straw. He fucked up so bad that there was no turning back. It made me a little worried.

Despite Hudson insisting I don't help him, I did much of the cleaning in the gym. Afterwards, Hudson locked himself in his bedroom, and I decided to talk to Wierzbowski. We went out to an area where you can see the river meets the bay, a deep red-orange sunset to our right-hand side as we sat on a bench overlooking the water, and a small cluster of hotels by the beach.

"I know a lot of people are defending Hicks, but I haven't heard anything from the man himself," Wierzbowski said.

"I think he's still in Ranelli's office," I replied, taking a sip from a water bottle. "I'm kinda worried about Hudson, though."

"How come?"

"Earlier, when I was comforting him in the gym, I got this feeling that . . . he was giving up. That he wasn't sure how to go on. That this was the worst thing he's ever done and there's no . . . there's no chance at moving forward."

Wierzbowski thought for a moment, then looked at me, whispering, "You think he might want to hurt himself?"

"I don't know. Maybe this mood'll pass, but . . . I'm afraid it won't, but, I don't know how to bring up that I'm worried without him pushing me away because . . . y-you know what happens whenever I bring up that I'm concerned about Hudson; he thinks I'm overreacting to a dream."

"I wouldn't say he does that every time," Wierzbowski replied. "You should still try to tell him you're worried. He might appreciate someone caring about him." He glanced at me. "You do when you . . . have those low points, right?"

I bit my lip, not really wanting to think about the times I've come close to wanting to hurt myself. "In a way, yeah, I want someone being concerned about me. I mean, sometimes it's hard to know what exactly you want in those moments. On the surface, it's . . . you don't want help. You want everything to end. With me, all it took was someone telling me that people do care about me, and that they'd be devastated if something happened to me, and then I felt like I could go on. I have no idea what'd work with Hudson, and that's what scares me."

Wierzbowski nodded a little. "I'll talk to him, then. Maybe he'll respond better to me."

"Thanks. You're a lifesaver, you know that?"

Wierzbowski smiled, but it was a sad one. "Literally, I guess." He looked out at the beach, appearing deep in thought. "I hope this fixes itself, though. I don't like seeing you all fight about something that can easily be remedied with a talk."

"No one does," I said. "The problem is people not knowing how to word their thoughts and the only way they feel they can express themselves is through . . . through rage, I guess. I can't blame them, though. I understand it a little too well."

"It's all part of being human. We make mistakes, but the important thing is that we learn from it and keep moving forward in our lives." Wierzbowski glanced at me. "Your therapist has said that to you, right?"

"A couple times, yeah."

We sat in silence for a few more minutes, enjoying the gentle breeze and the calm ambience of the beach. Wierzbowski broke the silence, though, with a question I wasn't expecting: "You're really going to miss Casey, aren't you?"

I couldn't lie about that. "Yeah, I am."

"I can understand that."

"Look, I already had this conversation with Hudson. I'm not ready for kids. I'm not exactly a good influence on Casey. I-"

"Hudson told you you're not a good influence on Casey?"

"Yeah."

Wierzbowski laughed. "I think he said that just so you don't feel so awful when Casey leaves. You have noticed that . . . Casey loves you, right?"

I shrugged.

"You spend more time with him than anyone. How could you not notice? His parents are out of the picture for now, so he's looking to you for everything they normally provide, which includes love."

"What does he see me as, though? A big brother? A dad? I can't replace his real family."

"In a way . . . we replaced yours."

"That's different. That is completely different. Casey's family is not like mine. He's not seeking to escape. Not like me." I took a breath. "Can we not . . . talk about this?"

Wierzbowski nodded, gently patting my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Drake."

"No. Y-You didn't know." I sighed. "I don't know. I . . . There is a part of me that wishes Casey could stay, but it's wrong, it's very selfish, and I'm not ready for that kind of responsibility."

"It doesn't get rid of the fact that this experience awoke your paternal instincts. I think, in the future, when you have your own children, you'll be fine. That's the impression I get when I see you with Casey."

I set down my water bottle. "I hope you're right."

* * *

Close to lights-out, I was still thinking about what Wierzbowski said to me. I headed down to Casey's room, finding him already in bed. One of the toy smartgunners was in his hand. He looked up at me when I sat at the bed. "Hey, Drake."

"Hey," I replied. "You doing OK?"

Casey nodded.

"You showered?"

"Yep."

"Brushed your teeth?"

"Yep."

"You want anything? Glass of water?"

"I guess. Sure."

After getting him water from the bathroom, I set the glass on his nightstand, getting a good look at the smartgunner figure. "Whatcha got there, sport?"

"This." Casey held up the figure, then put it on the nightstand. "Heard anything about finding Ma?"

I shook my head. "No. I'm sorry. We're really trying, OK?"

Casey sat up to hug me. He wasn't crying. I had a feeling he was tired of crying every time he heard we hadn't made any progress.

I moved to leave, but Casey squeezed me harder, whispering, "Don't go, please?"

For the second time that day, my T-shirt was soaked with tears. I ruffled Casey's hair, gently pressing him close to my chest. Truthfully, I was exhausted, but I really didn't want to leave Casey alone while he was upset.

The door slid open, and Apone looked in the room. "Bedtime, Drake." He noticed Casey, and then switched his gaze back to me. "Everything OK?"

"He's just homesick and frustrated," I said. "Might need a few more minutes, sir."

Apone took his cigar out of his mouth. "I'll give you ten."

"How's Hicks doing?"

"He should be fine in the morning. At least, I hope so. I don't think Ranelli got him to eat or drink anything, but he's sleeping right now."

"Better than nothing, I guess," I replied, adjusting Casey. "Ten minutes, Sarge?"

"Well, now you're down to nine, Drake. Calm the kid down, and then lights-out."

"Got it. Good-night, sir." I waited until Apone left, and then looked down at Casey. "Hey, wanna tell me what's going on, sport?"

I didn't get a response, because Casey had somehow fallen asleep. I patted his back before putting him under the blankets, and whispered, "Don't give up hope, OK? Have pleasant dreams." I know he was already asleep, but I tapped the head of his plastic figure. "He's gonna protect you, sport. No need to worry about bad dreams."

I turned the lights out as I left the room, hoping I got some sleep tonight as well. Today was a mental chore.

* * *

_Question: If you had been in the lounge at the time of Hicks and Hudson's argument, who would you believe is in the wrong?_


	14. Chapter 14

I woke up in a fairly odd position the next morning. Frankly, I didn't even know the human spine could twist in such a way-I was half on my back and half on my stomach. Drool was on my face and pillow. As I tried to get up, I felt a sudden sharp pain in my lower back, and it took awhile for me to slowly turn my body back the way it's supposed to be.

Glancing at the clock, I silently cussed as I realized Hicks was supposed to be coming around and banging on our doors. Then I remembered what happened yesterday. Hicks was supposedly going to be feeling better today, but God only knows if that's going to happen.

Something popped back into place in my spine, but there was still pain pulsating throughout the lower half of my torso. I grunted as I forced myself out of bed, and tried to get dressed. I must've been tossing and turning and finally relaxed mid-toss to get in an awkward position like that.

Everyone had kinda took their time with getting up and getting dressed. As I went out into the hallway, I saw the others were still hiking up their shorts and tucking their shirts in. Internally, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Hudson standing outside his door, lazily tucking in his T-shirt and yawning.

"Nice to see everyone up and at 'em on their own accord," Apone said, strolling down the hall. "Get on down to the mess hall. Move it, people!"

We sat down at the table to see . . . God, not again . . . whole-wheat waffles, runny sugar-free syrup, no butter, and pathetic little pieces of turkey bacon. And a tin of powdered eggs. Lovely.

I was half-expecting Hudson to start arguing, but he remained silent and ate. A moment later, Hicks joined us. I could tell he was still pissed over yesterday, but I just hoped it wasn't enough to completely fuck over his day, or worse, send him into a mental tailspin. That's the last thing he needs.

The whole mealtime was uncomfortably silent. When everyone was done, I watched Hudson go back to his room, and then Wierzbowski and I followed. "Did you talk to him last night?" I asked.

"Yeah, actually. He just wants to be alone, that's all," Wierzbowski replied.

"Well . . . I guess we should invite him to come with us on the pontoon trip." I knocked on Hudson's door.

"What do you want, man?" Hudson moaned.

"It's just Drake and Wierzbowski," I sighed. "Can we talk to you?"

"Fine." Hudson opened his door, and closed it when we were in.

Wierzbowski gestured to me. "Drake and I, yesterday, were talking about-"

"Going out to the bay to just relax," I finished. "Do you want to come?"

"Is it just gonna be us, man?"

"Just us, you mean . . . the three of us and Casey, or-"

"Yeah. I don't need Miranda seeing me like this."

I glanced at Wierzbowski. "Why not?"

"I dunno."

"You want a 'just guys' trip?"

Hudson nodded.

"OK. Nothing wrong with that."

"I'll go get passes from Apone," Wierzbowski said.

As he left the room, I looked at Hudson, who was sitting on the bed. He looked like he didn't get a lot of sleep last night. "Wierzbowski told me he talked to you," I said.

"Look, man, don't . . . don't ever assume that I'm gonna get mad at you because you're concerned about me. I'll be honest . . . I was concerned, too."

"How come?"

Hudson glanced around, nervously, and took a breath. "After we cleaned the gym, I just . . . I spent a lot of time alone, and I probably shouldn't have. I really shoulda gone to you and talked, because you understand better than anyone how it feels. This wasn't a childish argument with me and Hicks. I . . . y-you know, I basically punched him in the stomach when I said what I said. I pretty much told him he was responsible for two people killing themselves. I've said stupid things before, but this took the cake. I shouldn't have said that. A-And then everyone was telling me how wrong I was for the rest of the day, and . . . I started feeling like I shouldn't have put such high importance on meeting Miranda's parents, and then I started feeling like if I do that, I'll really fuck up in front of them and maybe I should just go back to being alone." He sniffed. "And then it got worse. I started thinking, 'How many mistakes do I have to make before I realize I'm not . . . ever going to stop?'"

I put my arm around him, rubbing his shoulder.

"I admitted to Wierzbowski that I felt . . . awful, and I told him that I was aware of how terrifying everything running through my head was. I even said the reason why I feel . . . like I still got a grip on myself is . . . well, you, Drake. You've stared these thoughts in the face and spit on 'em. You've been beaten down a lot more than I have, and you still get back up. There's no reason why I can't push on, man."

Well, that sunk in pretty deep. I patted Hudson's shoulder, forcing myself to smile. _I saved his life._ I may not think I get back up, but he thinks so. Wierzbowski thinks so.

I really should take it as a sign that I'm not as bad as I think I am.

* * *

I was a bit surprised Apone easily let us all go. He didn't seem angry at Hudson for yesterday, especially when he saw the look on his face. He signed our passes and told us to be back before curfew, and to have fun.

As promised, it was just the three of us and Casey, who of course asked if this was going to be boring. I said on the Metro, "To you, maybe, but we all need to relax for a few hours, and you can't be outta my sight, sport. Plus, I thought this would make up for the amusement park."

"Drake, I don't even know what a pontoon is," Casey replied.

"It's like a flat boat," Wierzbowski said.

"Does it go fast?"

"Well, no. Not exactly. It's for sitting and relaxing. It's not a speedboat."

"You guys must be old if that's your idea of fun."

"I did hurt my back this morning," I laughed. "Must be getting old."

"And I had gas last night, man," Hudson added.

"Anyone within a five-mile radius of your bedroom knew that," Wierzbowski muttered.

"We all get gas with the food they serve us," I said. "Really hurts sometimes."

Hudson smirked. "If you push your belly in the right spot, you-"

"That's enough," Wierzbowski interrupted. "Please. You can go on and on with nasty stuff like that, can't you, Hudson?"

"What else is there to talk about, man?"

When we got to the docks, we had to wait a good half-hour for the guys to get our rental prepped. If we wanted, we could also rent coolers to store food and drinks. However, there was no guarantee the coolers were fresh.

Wierzbowski opened one, and immediately gagged. "Is that . . . a dead fish?"

I looked over his shoulder. "That's a dead fish, bud. And a pair of skivvies."

"Oh, God!" Wierzbowski slammed shut the cooler, moving on to another one.

"We coulda fried that fish up and made some sandwiches, man," Hudson said.

"That fish could be disgusting. You want to get sick? Dietrich will just be berating you the whole time she treats you."

Hudson looked to make sure Casey was out of earshot. "Dietrich's a bitch sometimes, man."

Wierzbowski gave him a dirty look. "Dietrich works her behind off for us. The least you could do is show her a little appreciation."

A goofy grin spread across Hudson's face. "Aw, 'Ski, I didn't know you liked Dietrich, man!"

"I don't 'like' her-"

"Then why're you standing up for her, man?"

"Because she's a teammate, and I stand up for my teammates."

"Good for you." Hudson's voice trailed off a little, and his smile faded. I could tell he was thinking about how he said Hicks didn't stand up for his teammates. "Good for you, man."

After grabbing some food and drinks (some alcoholic and some not), we could head out to our pontoon. Unlike the cooler, the boat was actually cleaned up for us, with no traces of possibly sloppy previous renters on it.

"Just sit, do nothing, let our brains decompress and not think about the crap our other friends are doing back on base." I sat down, giving a contented sigh.

"Ain't 'crap' a cuss word?" Casey asked.

"Nah. It's not as bad as the four-letter-S-variant of it." I looked at Hudson and Wierzbowski. "Alright, who's got some juicy gossip to share?"

"Do we look like little old ladies sitting down for afternoon tea?" Wierzbowski asked.

"Well, we're not exactly doing anything, are we, man?" Hudson replied. "May as well be little old ladies sitting down for-" He pulled a beer can out of the cooler, "Coors Lite, man."

"I thought I got the regular, not the lite," I groaned. "Darn it."

"You two better eat before you start drinking," Wierzbowski said.

"Relax, big fella, we're eating, we're drinking." Hudson dumped a handful of almonds in his mouth.

Wierzbowski rolled his eyes when Hudson wasn't looking. "Alright, it's not gossip, but it's something. I saw Spunkmeyer and Ferro in the pool yesterday afternoon-"

"Were they naked?"

Wierzbowski swatted Hudson's shoulder. "No. They were in their bathing suits, like normal people. They were standing really close near the shallow end, talking quietly, and, well, I caught them kissing."

"Aww, how sweet, man," Hudson said, rubbing his shoulder. "Hope they're happy together."

"Are you kidding me? I'm surprised they weren't dating a long time ago."

"I think everyone would be surprised," I said. "Also, Spunkmeyer got a kiss before you, and you've been dating Eliza for, what, a month?"

"Maybe I'm choosing not to tell you perverts whether I got a kiss or not."

"We're your best friends! You can tell us."

"Yeah, man," Hudson chirped.

"Alright, alright." Wierzbowski leaned in. "Remember that night Eliza told we were heading out to a farm? The place was pretty much abandoned, so we pretty much had free run of it. You were right, Hudson, she is the type that wanted our first kiss to be under a full moon."

"I called it, man!"

"Yeah . . . we kissed on that date. We save that kind of kissing for when we're alone." Wierzbowski looked a little embarrassed.

"Hey, this was a big deal for you, right?" I said.

He nodded.

"We're proud of you."

Wierzbowski didn't offer much of a response. I think he was regretting telling us that.

Time seemed to pass slowly, and no one minded-well, maybe except Casey. He was bored, but eventually he settled down and slept next to me for the rest of the trip.

No one really said anything for awhile. I could tell everyone had retreated into their heads-I mean, this was the perfect place to do so.

Wierzbowski was staring out at the water. Hudson was staring down at the floor. I had my arm around Casey and was staring slightly upward at the canopy shielding us from the sun. We were all lost in our minds.

I've told myself before that I shouldn't be going this far into my head. Doctor Ranelli has told me that sometimes I need to go deep inside my mind in order to get a better understanding of what's going on. As I continued to stare, and let my thoughts go, I suddenly felt like I was falling into pitch-blackness. Not the gentle, floating fall I experienced when I was having surgery; it was a speedy fall downward, toward nothingness.

The last time I had this feeling was when I was poisoned on the lab next to Gateway.

I looked around, trying to find light of some kind. None. None, whatsoever. I felt something tightening around my ribcage, and I tried to scream. Nothing was coming out. I was still falling through absolute darkness. _Someone help me! Please!_

Wierzbowski's voice broke the horrifying silence. "Easy, don't spook him."

"Is he OK, man?" Hudson asked.

I opened my eyes to see Wierzbowski standing in front of me, and Hudson was holding a still-sleeping Casey. I wasn't sure what to do first, so I put my head in my hands, letting out a sob.

Wierzbowski gripped my shoulders. "You're alright, Drake. Take a deep breath."

Hudson pulled a water bottle out of the cooler. "Flashback?" he whispered.

"Seems like it. He wasn't responding to anything I said for a few minutes, and he wasn't asleep. Did you see his eyes?"

"Geez, man." Hudson looked at Wierzbowski. "Should we just go home?"

"Probably should. I'm sorry."

* * *

I honestly felt like I had ruined everyone's day by having that flashback, even though it was Hudson's idea to come back to base. As much as I've been told not to feel bad about stuff like this, I still felt awful, and it was hard for me to let go and move on.

I had thought Casey was asleep for the whole duration of my episode, but I found out he wasn't. He came in my room that night and climbed on the bed to hug me. "I saw," he whispered.

"Saw what, sport?" I asked.

"What happened on the boat. You were twitching and you kinda looked like you couldn't breathe. Like you were having a bad dream, but your eyes were still open."

"It basically was a bad dream, except I was awake," I said. "That's what a flashback is. It's a bad dream while you're awake."

"Are you OK, now?"

I nodded. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

I paused, hoping I worded my question correctly. "What do you see me and the rest of the squad here as?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Like . . . are we substitute older brothers and sisters?"

"Kinda. You're definitely like a big brother, and you're also a grown-up best friend."

I gave a bit of a sad smile. "Yeah, I don't think your parents will let you stay in contact with me."

"I don't think they will, either."

"Why's that?"

"Same reason I couldn't find you a while back-Ma said you're busy and got no time. Is that what you thought?"

"Not . . . exactly. I think they'd think I'm a bad influence."

"You? Not like you done anything wrong. Besides, it's not like I'm gonna talk about everything you told me, like your head problems. That can be a secret."

I smirked. "So, you won't tell them about what I did at the amusement park?"

"Nope."

"You won't tell them how some of us have cussed in front of you?"

"How do I explain all the money in the swear jar, then?"

"Tell them we pooled it for your future."

"I ain't going to college, though. I'm joining the Marines."

"OK. You're gonna need to buy a house and a car and all that when you get out. It's a start for your savings."

Casey grinned. "That's genius, Drake."

"Thanks."

* * *

During breakfast the next morning, Bishop walked into the mess hall, and opened his mouth to say something when Hudson interrupted, "Bishop, can you tell the cooks I'm sick and tired of whole-wheat? It's dryer than a fucking cow pie in late August, and it's making my bowels sluggish."

"Five bucks in the swear jar, buddy," Hicks sighed, not looking up from his tray.

"Dammit."

"Ten bucks in the swear jar, buddy."

Hudson's face turned red as he resisted the urge to curse again.

"I'll tell them you're filing a complaint, Hudson," Bishop replied. "Anyway, I've got some good news regarding Casey; the investigator started working on his case last night, and got a lead. Casey, do you have family in Mississippi?"

"Yeah, Ma's sister lives there," Casey said.

"The military contacted them this morning, and they're working on getting them tickets here to D.C. to get you. They should be here tomorrow at the latest."

My chest started to hurt. _I'm not ready for him to go._

"Thanks, Bishop," Apone said.

"That's probably the best news we've gotten all week," Hicks added. He looked at Casey. "You excited?"

I was surprised to see Casey looking up at me. He actually appeared torn. "What about Drake?" he asked.

"What about him?" Hicks replied.

"Is he gonna be OK?"

Hicks and Apone exchanged a look, and then Hicks glanced at us with a smile. "Yeah, Drake's gonna be OK. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." Casey looked back at the table.

I could hear hushed "awws" around the table. Ferro mouthed, "He loves you, Drake."

I spent the rest of the day trying to mentally prepare myself for Casey leaving. I kept telling myself that I just had to let go, that he wasn't my kid, and that we were probably never going to see each other again. Sometime after one in the afternoon, Hicks approached me, and gestured for me to follow him to the courtyard. Part of me was tempted to ask if he was feeling better in regards to what happened a couple days ago, but I knew bringing it up was probably a bad idea.

"Everything OK?" Hicks asked.

I swallowed past a lump in my throat. "I don't know."

"Not ready for Casey to leave?"

I shook my head. "I'm . . . I'm sorry. I know it's wrong and he's not mine and-"

"It's OK to be upset, Drake. Don't try to shut those feelings off. If you're gonna miss him, miss him. I think taking care of him did something good for you. You shouldn't be ashamed of this at all."

"Explain your logic, Hicks."

"Do you feel more confident than you did before we took Casey in?"

"Yeah, but-"

"That's my logic. You needed this. You needed to feel everything you've felt while being Casey's guardian."

"How am I gonna let go, now?"

"Be patient. He hasn't left yet, so . . . try to enjoy these last few hours with him, OK?"

* * *

_Question: How do you think Hudson has effected the way Drake thinks about himself?_


	15. Chapter 15

The day passed by rather slowly. I felt that at any second, someone was going to come in and tell Casey it was time to go.

Casey found me in the courtyard sometime after lunch. I didn't even notice him sitting next to me until he said, "Drake? _Are_ you gonna be OK? You looked sad when Bishop said my parents're gonna come take me home."

I remained quiet for a moment, than looked at him. "It's not something you're gonna understand till you're older. It's not something you're gonna understand unless you've gone through what I've gone through . . . and, dear God, I hope you never do." I swallowed past a lump in my throat. "When you start trying to figure what you want to do with your life, try to remember a couple of things, alright? Number one, figure out who you are and what you want, deep inside. Number two, don't hesitate to seek help. You will hear people say that your path is your own and you shouldn't listen to anything anyone else tells you; they're wrong. You can't go through life alone. Plus, sometimes, when someone tells you that you're not ready or you're not fit for something . . . consider the possibility that they might be right, that they could be saying it in your best interest, because there might be something better for you. But, also remember that your mental health is important. You might not learn more about it until a few years down the line, but . . . trust me when I say that if you neglect your mental health, you'll suffer, and it's not an easy recovery."

Casey nodded a little.

"I'm not expecting this to stick with you now, but I hope it comes back when you're . . . ready to try and comprehend all this. Right now, when you go home, I want you to enjoy your childhood while you still got it."

Another nod. "Will we ever see each other again?"

"I hope so."

"I hope so, too."

I thought for a moment. "If something bad happens, and I mean something really, really bad, like you feel home isn't safe anymore . . . come find me. I hope that never happens, but if it does, try to find me."

"What if I can't? Don't you guys move around a lot?"

"Before you leave, I'll give you something that'll help you contact me, but you have to promise never to open it unless it's an absolute emergency, OK? Promise?"

"Promise."

What I gave him was and envelope containing a list of phone and satellite numbers that would put him in contact with USCM officers who could find what base I was located at. Frankly, if Casey was put in a position where he was a runaway, and given that I'm not a legal guardian, I doubt it'd be easy for him to get to me. Knowing General Russell, though (especially since he gave me permission to watch over Casey after the hurricane), maybe it won't be so difficult.

Like I said, I hope that never happens. I hope the next time we meet each other, Casey will be grown up, I'll be out of the Marines, and we'll talk like old friends. It'll be a run-in we didn't expect, and afterwards, we'll be able to talk anytime we wanted to.

Knowing my luck, that probably won't happen, though.

* * *

It was close to sunset when the MPs came in and said there was a couple outside the gates ready to take Casey. Without a word, Hicks and I gathered up Casey's luggage and headed out to the lot where a pair of guards were standing with a tired-looking man and woman. They were both teary-eyed, and Casey tried to move as fast as he could on his crutches toward them.

My heart was swollen with a mix of emotions, both good and bad. I watched the reunion, and tried to accept that this was it. Casey's parents thanked Hicks for everything, and I heard Casey say that they needed to thank me, too, because I was the one who rescued him.

It was hard to make a good impression on them with the immense pressure of sadness in my chest, but I did it anyway. With that, they turned to leave, but when they were almost to the gate, Casey said, "Wait, I forgot something." He got out of his mother's arms, and he made his way back to me. As soon as he opened his arms, I grabbed him up in a hug, and heard him sobbing.

His arms were wrapped tightly around my neck, and I felt tears soaking my shirt. "I'll miss you, Drake." He then planted his face in my shoulder. His grip got harder, like he never wanted to let go.

I patted his back, and tried not to get teary myself. "I'll miss you, too, sport."

We stood there for some time. I took a breath, and looked Casey in the eye. I couldn't bring myself to say anything, nor could I describe what I was feeling at the time. Eventually, I set him down, my heart a little heavier. As Casey walked away, he turned around to wave to me, and I waved back.

"Bye, Drake," Casey called.

I managed to smile despite the tears running down my face. "Bye, Casey."

* * *

Hicks wasn't wrong when he said the loss of someone you care about is one of the most painful things you will ever feel, and it's something you'll have to deal with at some point in your life, whether you want to or not.

I didn't lose Casey the way Hicks lost his mentor, but Hicks still understood the feeling and stayed up with me that night to help me cope. It was a long night, and Hicks didn't stay the whole time because he told me getting some sleep would help. I spent much of the night writing, and at times, I glanced at the door, wondering if Casey would come running in because he had a bad dream. As annoying as it was sometimes, I actually missed it. He felt secure around me, and that made me feel good about myself.

This whole experience made me feel good about myself. I know I don't physically show it, and it certainly hasn't cured my PTSD, but it gave me a small sense of confidence. I felt like I was capable of caring for something small and defenseless. If I was in a position where I could become a dad tomorrow, I feel ready for it.

In the morning, Hudson was swearing up a storm because he was so happy he didn't have to pay five dollars for every cuss anymore. I think around sixty bucks in the swear jar were from him alone. There may've been more, but I didn't count.

"I knew you had the filthiest mouth in the whole squad, Hudson, but I didn't think it was this bad," Hicks said.

"Oh, it's fucking bad, man!" Hudson replied.

"That's a real pity; I was considering getting chicken and waffles for everyone if they behaved."

Of course, Hudson will shut up whenever food is mentioned. "Did you say 'chicken and waffles,' man?"

"I sure did, but you're displaying a pottymouth, so, I think I'll wait a few more weeks."

"Come on, Hudson, don't ruin it for the rest of us," Frost said.

"What exactly is chicken and waffles?" Wierzbowski whispered to me.

"It is exactly what it sounds like," I replied. "Juicy fried chicken on top of a fluffy waffle, drizzled with maple syrup."

Hudson glared at me. "You shut up, man. Making me want some."

"When do you not want food, Hudson?" Wierzbowski asked.

"When I'm sleeping."

"Or when he's making the pained groans of constipation on the toilet," I added with a snort.

"For the hundredth time," Apone sighed, "what did I tell you people about bathroom talk at the damn table?"

"Sorry, sir," I said.

"Yeah, I know the kid's gone, guys, but you still need to behave. Officer could come any minute with a surprise inspection," Hicks replied.

Hudson blew a raspberry. "Surprise inspection. They never surprise us, man, they always tell us ahead of time."

"It's so you have a chance to hide away your fucking pigsty of a room," Spunkmeyer muttered.

"Come on, my room isn't as messy as Drake's, man."

I gave him a look. "My room doesn't have a mysterious foul odor like yours does, buddy."

"Kiss my ass, man." Hudson flipped me the bird.

"Not until you kiss mine."

"Bite me."

"Maybe I will."

Wierzbowski rubbed his face with a sigh. "If I catch you two biting each other, I'll throw you both across the parking lot."

"Maybe you shouldn't do that, 'Ski," Frost said, "'cause Drake likes it rough."

"Is everything a perverted joke to you?"

"Oh, loosen up, would you?"

"Look, man, I want my chicken and waffles, so, shut up," Hudson said.

"Who died and made you corporal?" Crowe asked.

"It's too early in the morning for you guys to be making wisecracks," Hicks sighed.

I think everyone just wanted to get the wisecracks and dirty jokes off their chests after not being allowed to say any while Casey was here. As much as it was nice for everything to be back to normal, I felt like something was missing, and it wasn't a good feeling.

* * *

Miranda's graduation from college gave me something else to put my mind to, but it also meant dealing with Hudson's volatile emotions. I almost forgot about it until he told me, because he didn't want anyone making comments about how he might screw up his meeting with her parents.

"Did you and Hicks actually talk about this?" I asked when we were on our way to the hall where this thing was being held. "I know you guys have been talking like everything is normal, but . . . you didn't tell me if you guys made up."

"Hicks didn't say anything about it the next day, so I figured it was best to just let it go, man," Hudson replied, adjusting his collar.

"You know that's one of the worst things you can do, right? Unresolved emotions aren't good for you."

Hudson sighed, looking like he wanted to argue, but then realized I was right.

"If you want, I can sit down with you two and help. Or . . . you can do it on your own. Either way, you can't hide this, because it will come back to bite you in the ass and it's not gonna feel good at all."

"Alright, I'll take care of it when I get back, man," Hudson said. He was starting to sweat nervously, and I took his shoulder.

"Try to relax, OK? Remember what I told you; you don't have to tell them everything about yourself. Be honest . . . to a degree. The most important thing is showing them you love their daughter and you're gonna care for her the rest of your life."

Hudson nodded. "I can do that."

I patted his shoulder. "I know you can do it, buddy."

I will be brutally honest here; the ceremony was boring beyond sane comprehension. I fell asleep several times, and when I was actually awake, I was silently judging every single person in the room, especially some of the graduates.

When it was finally over, I was about to go over to Hudson and Miranda when I saw them talking with Miranda's parents. I decided to just stay out of it, and find someplace to wait until Hudson told me he was leaving with Miranda and her family.

However, it's not like Miranda forgot I was there. After all, she invited me because I was one of the reasons she pushed herself through this past year, and when she caught me leaving the hall, she jogged over to me. "Mark, wait!"

I turned to face her. "What do you want?"

"You're not staying?"

"I don't want to. You're dating Hudson. He's gotta deal with your parents, not me."

"I invited you for a reason. Least you could do is say 'hi,' or 'congratulations' to me. All you're gonna do is leave?"

The crowd had thinned out, but I still wasn't comfortable having a heart-to-heart conversation with Miranda right there in the ceremony hall. "Why don't we go talk somewhere alone?"

We walked down a few hallways before coming to an area not filled with people. All the classrooms were locked, and we ended up sitting next to an awards case. I glanced around, making sure (and hoping) we were alone.

"Alright, Mark, what's up?" Miranda asked, taking off her graduation cap. She had tucked a photograph of herself and Hudson on the inside, and pulled it out to put it in one of her pockets.

"Not much. I just wasn't . . . comfortable saying 'congratulations' in front of so many people. I dunno, if I do it when it's just you and me, I feel like it means a little more, so . . . congratulations. You spent, what, eight years of your life to get to this point. That's eight years you're not getting back, so, live the rest of your life to the fullest."

Miranda nodded, still holding her cap. She was quiet for a moment, and then sighed. "I wasn't top of the class, Mark. Frankly, I'm not gonna miss this place. That's why I looked for employment at a different building."

"You passed, and you're capable of working. Hell, you operated on me-"

"I observed. I didn't actually cut you open or administer the anesthesia. All I did was watch, and keep an eye on your vitals. Still . . . yeah, it takes a lot just to be in that dark room."

"Are you . . . proud of yourself? Above all, that matters more than what anyone else thinks."

She nodded. "You guys really were a big help, emotionally, this past year. You and Will."

"Alright, I can't be on the same level as Hudson, because you've had sex with him. All we did was kiss on that fake date."

"You introduced me to Will, and . . . even though it's debatable whether or not we were a thing for a few days, I had a better time with you than all my past relationships. Plus, you're a good friend. I've had a lot of meaningful conversations with you, and that's something I hope we continue to have."

A weak smile tugged at the edges of my mouth. "Thanks."

We stood up to head back to Hudson and Miranda's family. I knew damn well Miranda was not leaving me without a hug, and before I could even look at her, I felt her arms around me. Normally, I don't do anything, but this time, I hugged her back.

* * *

Hudson's plan was to talk more with Miranda's parents over dinner, so, basically, he was staying the night at Miranda's apartment. All I could do was hope and pray he maintained his best behavior.

I went back to base alone. It wasn't very late in the afternoon, but it was enough to make me feel tired. It was all mental exhaustion, though. I've gone quite some time without really thinking about my PTSD. My last flashback was the one on the pontoon trip, and that was five days ago. Coupled with that was missing Casey, and wanting to know if he was OK.

"So, right now, Hudson's bonding with the girlfriend's parents," Wierzbowski whispered when I joined him and the others in the lounge.

"Yep," I replied. "Looked like they were doing OK when I left the college."

"Well, I hope he made a good impression."

Spunkmeyer walked over to us, carrying a cue stick and a bottled iced coffee. "Hey, Drake, how was the graduation?"

"Boring. Extra boring if there's no one there you really don't give two shits about. I mean, Miranda and I are friends, but that's it."

"She's a very sweet girl, Drake, you weren't being rude and obnoxious, were you?" Wierzbowski asked.

Spunkmeyer placed the iced coffee in front of me, and sat on the couch across from us. "I got some news; Ferro and I are going out tomorrow night."

"On a real date, not the clusterfuck I took you two on?" I said.

"Yeah. It's just gonna be her and me. Nobody else."

Wierzbowski grinned. "You two enjoy yourselves."

"Next step is sleeping with each other," I added.

Wierzbowski elbowed me. "Again with you and the perverted-"

"No, 'Ski, he's . . . he's kinda right," Spunkmeyer said. "Ferro and I have known each other a really long time, and even though we've just started calling ourselves boyfriend and girlfriend . . ." he leaned in to whisper, "we might try sleeping together afterward."

I smirked. "Is it gonna be . . . special?"

"Probably not. We'll stick to cuddles."

"Yeah, cuddles are good to start with." I looked at Wierzbowski. "How 'bout you? Have you gotten to cuddles yet?"

"I'm not answering that question, Drake."

"I'll take that as a 'no.'"

Spunkmeyer took a breath. "Any . . . tips?"

"For cuddling? Know the spots on your body you like being touched, and ask Ferro, you know, where she does and doesn't like being touched, and-"

"Not that, dumbass. I mean, with . . . with . . ."

"The date itself? Like you said, you and Ferro know each other. Starting a conversation shouldn't be too hard. It'll probably be a lot easier for you without . . . me being a dork with Vasquez."

Spunkmeyer nodded. "Got that right." He sighed, and tapped his cue stick against the floor. "Wanna play a few rounds, Drake?"

"Sure."

"You, 'Ski?"

"Not right now, thanks," Wierzbowski replied.

The rest of that day was quiet and uneventful, but I kept hoping things were going well for Hudson. The next morning, we didn't see him till after nine. However, he didn't approach me and Wierzbowski . . . he approached Hicks.

Hicks was in Apone's office when Hudson walked in, and glanced up at him as soon as he heard someone come through the door. "What's up, Hudson?"

"You got a minute? I need to talk to you, man."

Some of us were expecting them to break out into an argument and piss each other off, but that wasn't the case. It turns out I had been the only person Hudson went into detail with regarding his nerves over meeting Miranda's parents, so Hicks really never knew how much this meant to Hudson. Needless to say, they both apologized to each other, but I still had the impression that Hudson had "lost," despite his meeting with Miranda's parents going well. I could sense he still felt guilty, and people were hesitant on forgiving him.

Hudson described last night as "kinda boring." There was a lot of small talk and questions, but nothing that really upset him or engaged him; basically, all the Harrisons knew was that Hudson was a combat technician in the USCM, he grew up in Minnesota, and he was polite. I'll bet there are other Marines who are combat techs that grew up in Minnesota, and are polite. They really didn't get a good picture of Hudson, that's all I'm saying. However, it was his first meeting and it isn't a total failure. After all, he didn't piss anyone off, and he avoided talking about his past. It was a win on both sides, I guess.

I know it's been a few days since Casey left, but this was the first time since then I went into the room he stayed in. Everything had been made up neat, like no one had ever been there.

Aside from one small thing.

I almost panicked when I found one of Casey's plastic soldiers-specifically, a smartgunner-in one of the drawers of the nightstand. Then I saw the note under it, and realized he left it on purpose. "_He's gonna protect you, Drake. No need to worry about bad dreams."_

Smiling a little, I took the toy Marine back to my room. He resides next to my journal, inside my nightstand.

* * *

_Question: How are Hudson and Hicks more similar than they realize?_

_Author's Note: Only thing I can promise is that I'll bring back Casey in the future, but probably not until I map out an "after 'Ice Star'" series.  
_

_Speaking of which, "Ice Star" should be wrapping up within the next week. In that time, I'll be getting started on a Wierzbowski-centric story, and the Drake series will continue after "Ice Star" is finished. It's also been brought to my attention that a story after the Wierzbowski spinoff and the next Drake episode will be technically the 20th story in this particular library. I'll be doing something special, a little bit different for the 20th story, but that's all I'll say about it. Happy reading, - Cat._


End file.
